Van Helsing 2
by a fan fic fan
Summary: When a serial killer gets his hands on the Invisible Man’s invisibility serum, the Knights of the Holy Order bring in Van Helsing, along with some new monster-killers, to stop him. Includes other classic monster icons. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!
1. Part 1

**Van Helsing 2**

**Summary**

_When a mysterious serial killer gets his hands on Dr. John Griffin (a.k.a. the Invisible Man)'s invisibility serum and plans to use it for his own nefarious reasons, the Order of the Church brings in legendary monster-killer Van Helsing to stop him._

**Notes**

I started the outline for this story in December 2006. I began to write this story as a script on June 22, 2007. I began the novel version of the story on September 17, 2007 and finished on December 22, 2007. The entire edited version was finished on January 23, 2008. I own no rights to any of the characters. I would love to have you tell me what you like or don't like. I have completed the story, but in an effort to see if the story is liked or not, I've only posted the first half or so. If I get some reviews asking for more, I'll do it. So for those that want to read more, just ask! Thank you for your time. Enjoy!

**Prologue**

**1890; Romania**

Daryl Wearne cursed angrily as he felt the carriage slide into one of the many rain puddles that littered the grim road. He looked out of the window of his carriage for the eighth time and cringed at the sight of the blackened sky, which was occasionally lit by lightning. The inevitable rumble and crash of thunder seemed to be only feet away. Every time he heard a thunderclap, Wearne jumped abruptly.

_What a God-forsaken place_… Wearne scratched his scalp, where his grey hair was receding. Over the years, he had developed this nervous reaction as a way of relieving his all-too-apparent stress. Occasionally a lightning bolt would spook the horses pulling Wearne's carriage, and the carriage would rock violently. Wearne hated it. He hated abrupt movements. He lived an uncomplicated simple life, where rapid movements were unnecessary.

He still was perplexed on his client's choice of where to meet. It was in the middle of nowhere. Why couldn't they have done this in the daytime? Everyone always in a rush…

If the money wasn't so good, Wearne would have been tempted to tell his would-be client to go to hell in a hand basket. But when someone offers twenty thousand dollars for something so simple, the person would have to be a fool to refuse. He had even been paid half of the payment already. The other half was to be paid on delivery. Exactly what he would have done in his client's shoes. This client was smart; Wearne had to give him that.

Wearne again looked out of the carriage window. They were getting closer to the town… what was it called? Ah, yes, Gilon. That was where the instructions had said to go.

Of course, there was the fact that Wearne had never in fact _seen _his client. The client had decided he would rather communicate through a third party, through an assistant of his. What had the young man's name been? Wearne wracked his brain. It was Tim… no, Jim… what was it? _Thomas_! That was it.

Wearne sighed. He was getting too old for this kind of job. In his younger days, he could have remembered what he had had for breakfast two weeks ago. Now he had trouble remembering where he had placed his favorite gold-plated pen the night before.

Yes, it had been a young man named Thomas who had given him one last letter on Tuesday, saying that his client wanted to have the items as soon as possible. After saying when to meet, Wearne's client had said where to go and what to do. Wearne had to at least admit that the man's instructions were completely straightforward.

Maybe these little incidents meant that it was time to retire from his illegal trade. God knew that after this last transaction, he _could _retire, never to have to work another day in his life. He could live wherever he wanted to, marry a young woman, have a houseful of children, and live comfortably for the rest of his days.

Just one more transaction…

Randomly, Wearne heard the barking of some of the village dogs. Some of them were out on the deserted street. After a moment, Wearne heard something unusual about the barking.

Where he lived, back in England, the dogs barked deep and rough, caring very little at who they barked at or why.

But these dogs seemed to shrink back, whining pitifully, as the carriage drew closer. They seemed to stare at Wearne as if he was a demon. Their eyes watched his every movement with terror. _These dogs are afraid of something_, Wearne thought. He looked around nervously. Were there robbers out here, waiting for a rich passerby to appear? He had nothing of value on him, at least nothing a common thug would find interesting enough to steal.

At that moment, he found that the carriage had stopped abruptly. He looked out the rain-soaked window yet again, and found that the carriage was now in front of a quaint, local bar. It was an older building, its wood and bricks having turned a dark color.

A large sign hung right above the bar's door, whipping in the strong wind. On the bottom of the sign was a drawing of three black, ghostly figures; each with small, white, beady eyes that seemed to watch everything around them. Four claws resided on each of the ghost hands, reaching outwards, as if to grasp any poor soul who attempted to enter the building. Above the horrific specters was the name of the establishment. This was the Lost Souls Tavern.

_The Lost Souls Tavern… who in the Depths names a tavern something like that? _Wearne shook his head at the prospect. He had more important things to do than to ponder about the curious name of a tavern. _Much _more important things.

Grabbing his rather expensive-looking umbrella, Wearne stepped out of the carriage and out into the pounding rain. His boots seemed to instantly suck up several pools worth of water. He looked at the driver, who had not moved since stilling the horses.

"Just wait here for a moment, will you?" yelled Wearne, as another thunderclap sounded like a cannon, "this should not take long!"

The driver, an older man with grizzled hair, nodded solemnly. Wearne pulled out a five-pound note and handed it to the driver. The driver's eyes lit up at the extra incentive. Then Wearne ran towards the tavern.

The bell above the tavern door rang loudly, and another thunderclap sounded as Wearne made his way into the tavern. The smell of alcohol and grease hit Wearne the moment he walked through the door. He shook the rain from his coat, and looked around.

The first thing he noticed was that the establishment appeared much larger from outside. The tavern was filled with empty tables and chairs, giving the place a depressing aspect. Each oval table each had four chairs surrounding it and a small red tablecloth covering it. The faint source of light came from several dimly-lit candles, two hanging from hooks on each wall of the building. The only person that Wearne could see was a young, attractive barmaid, who seemed to not have noticed Wearne's presence.

Wearne looked around. Where was the man? He said to meet at _precisely _10:00 o'clock at night! Sure, Wearne was a few minutes late, but that shouldn't have given the man time to get here, wait, and then leave!

Wearne pulled his umbrella together in one motion and walked towards the bar. The brunette barmaid, who had previously been washing dirty mugs, had by now noticed the neatly-dressed man's arrival. Drying her hands on her cotton apron, she turned towards him with an attractive smile.

"Anything I can help you with, stranger?" There was the strong accent in her speech, the same that Wearne had heard from every Romanian he had met on this journey.

"Actually, you can," replied Wearne, leaning on the bar.

The attractive woman's smile widened pleasantly, but she shook her head. "I am sorry; sir, but I don't do that kind of work."

"That's not what I meant," Wearne said quickly, his cheeks reddening. "I mean I am here to meet someone."

Understanding filled the woman's eyes.

"He's in the storeroom," she replied quietly. She nodded her head to a door behind her. Wearne let out a sigh of relief. So his client hadn't left yet. Wearne nodded appreciatively towards her.

"Thank you."

"You had better hurry, sir. He's been waiting."

Wearne walked past the barmaid and to the door leading to the storeroom. He put his hand firmly on the doorknob and turned it. The door opened with a small push, and Wearne made his way inside.

The light was dimmer in this room. The reason for this was because only one small candle lit the room. The storeroom was full of barrels of ale and dozens of boxes, covered with a variety of symbols of different trades and nationalities. In the middle of the storeroom was a wooden table, and sitting on a chair near the table was a man. The man was unusually slim, with dark brown hair that was well groomed and cut to perfection. The man's face was clean-shaven. He wore more casual clothes than Wearne wore, with a collared short-sleeved shirt and average pants.

There was no doubt in Wearne's mind that this was his client. The factor that gave the man away was the eyes, colored deep crimson. Wearne felt his body shudder at the sight of them. The eyes seemed to be piercing through Wearne's very soul, laying bear everything that the older man thought. The man's hands were folded together on the table, and his left leg was relaxed, propped up on the third chair in the room. The right leg remained on the floor. The faint light seemed to dance mischievously on the man's face. Half of his face was in darkness, the other was dimly seen. It gave a sinister aspect to the man's looks.

_So this is Jack Bronson_, Wearne thought with another shudder. _This is the man that I have been working with_.

"You're late."

No emotion seemed to come from Bronson, neither engaging nor threatening. No chatter, no niceties, just right to business.

"I had some problems finding this place—" muttered Wearne, trying to form coherent thoughts as the man's eyes followed him.

But Bronson interrupted Wearne's words. His tone was sharp but calm. "Do you have the merchandise?" He unfolded his hands and placed them slowly on the edges of the table. He seemed to glare at Wearne.

Wearne, feeling his legs growing weaker as if the gaze from Bronson was sapping all of his strength, sat down on the chair opposite his companion. The eyes followed him to his seat.

Carefully, Wearne reached his hand into a coat pocket, and pulled out a small vial. The vial was extremely small and fragile, something that Wearne could have broken by just firmly grasping it. The vial itself was not clear, but made of silver, giving no sign on what the contents were.

"Yes," replied Wearne.

Bronson looked carefully at the vial. He looked suspicious. He pulled his red, penetrating eyes back on Wearne.

"How do I know that it holds the contents I am about to pay you for?"

Wearne gulped. "It is."

Bronson seemed to be amused by this comment. The sides of his lips rose in what seemed to be a cockeyed smirk. It was an attractive sort of smile, but also one that warned his companion to be cautious.

"Why should I give any credence to a promise coming from you?" asked Bronson, removing his left leg from the chair and replacing it on the ground. "After all, you apparently have no qualms about stealing from the Order or your leader – it _is_ a church, after all." He leaned forward slightly. "So tell me – why should I believe you?"

Wearne felt sweat falling from his forehead. "There is no method for me to prove it to you. All I can say is that this is what I stole from the vault, and thus far the Order has not made a mistake at bookkeeping."

After a moment of silence, Bronson chuckled lightly.

"Where is the rest?"

Wearne reached into his coat again, and pulled out a long, slim item. It appeared to be made of paper. He unrolled it carefully, and opened it fully in front of Bronson.

But Wearne was disconcerted at the sight of the other man's eyes, as they greedily soaked up the sight of the contents of the map in Wearne's hands. If it was possible, Wearne thought that Bronson looked even more menacing than before.

Wearne quickly rolled the map back up and put it back in his coat, careful not to damage his prized goods in any way.

"As I said; I have it," said Wearne.

Bronson then reached towards the vial, but Wearne immediately put the vial back his coat along with the map.

Bronson pulled his hands back together, and continued to look at Wearne with an almost amused expression.

_What is the matter with me?_ Wearne thought, angry at himself. He hated to have clients who made him feel this nervous. He always wanted to be in control of any situation he entered. But what was it about this man that put every fiber of his being on edge?

"The _money_, Bronson!" snapped Wearne, looking at the man carefully.

Bronson looked at Wearne, an odd smile materializing on his face.

Of all the things Bronson had done to this point, that smile was the first thing that put terror into Wearne's soul. What kind of man was this? The smile… it was just so… Wearne could not think of any worldly comparison.

"Yes, yes, of course," said Bronson, starting to put a hand to his inside coat pocket, "the money."

But as Bronson sat searching his pockets, Wearne felt his instincts blare inside of him. After twenty years of illegal activity, Wearne had begun to trust that the nagging feeling meant that something was wrong. That nagging feeling had saved his life on more than one occasion. That was the only way a man of his line of work stayed alive for as long as he did. Fifty-six years old this November and he wasn't planning on stopping the clock anytime soon. His crimes, if revealed, would get him charged with armed robbery, extortion, forgery, treason, and even… murder.

Wearne had killed more than once due to this "nagging feeling." He was willing to kill again.

And, in trusting his instincts, Wearne let his hand slid down to his coat pocket. Then – quicker than a man of his age should have been able to do – Wearne pulled a revolver from his coat. Bronson looked up, and saw the gleam of the sinister weapon aimed at him. The odd smile not only remained, but seemed to widen all the more.

"Don't try anything, Bronson," snarled Wearne, keeping the other man fully in his sights, "just because I'm not from Romania doesn't mean I don't know how you all do business. I've heard the horror stories just the same as anyone. I don't like to take unnecessary chances."

Bronson took another look at the weapon, and smiled again.

"But of course, Mr. Wearne… I wouldn't expect anything otherwise," said Bronson, his eyes going from Wearne's face to the gun.

This time, Bronson went into the left pocket of his coat and, after only a moment, brought out a decent-sized stack of American bills. He waved the bills slowly.

"You see the money. Now the merchandise, Mr. Wearne," said Bronson.

Warily, Wearne took both the map and the vial back from his pockets and, after a moment's hesitation, handed them to Bronson.

Bronson seemed to ignore Wearne for a moment, looking at the two items with such a pure, horrific delight that Wearne was glad that their business transaction was nearly at an end.

Then Bronson handed Wearne the stack of money.

"I believe that that is the agreed-upon amount?" asked Bronson, watching Wearne carefully.

Wearne looked at the money in his hands. Each was in the form of an American hundred-dollar bill. Wearne felt his hands start to sweat as he began to count the money. _19,800_… _19,900_… _20,000_… _21,000_… Wearne tried to stop himself from visibly reacting. There was more money here than they had agreed upon. He continued counting. Now there was more than five hundred extra. What a fool this man was, to make such as stupid mistake. And Wearne was not the kind of charitable man to tell Bronson the fact. If Bronson was dumb enough to miscount his money, who was Wearne to tell him he was wrong?

"I— I think it is the correct amount," replied Wearne, attempting with all his will not to show his excitement.

Bronson waved a hand dismissively at the money.

"By all means, count it all to make sure. After all..." Bronson smiled again, "I wouldn't want to make you think I would cheat you."

Wearne started to finish counting the money. But little did he realize that that action was an extremely costly mistake. Unknown to him, Bronson had slid a hand down to the back of his chair, and proceeded to slowly pull out an automatic pistol.

Wearne was too entranced by his immense luck to even give a thought to the dangerous man in the room. He had found that it was not just five hundred more; it was over _two thousand _more.

Just thinking about what he could do with all of the extra money distracted Wearne. In his greed, he missed Bronson's lightning-fast reflex of pulling out the automatic and aiming it at Wearne's chest.

At that moment, Wearne looked up and realized what had happened. He realized his mistake.

Bronson's pistol went off three times, and Wearne could feel each bullet smash into his chest, two of which proceeded to travel through his body and sink themselves deep into the wall behind him.

In shock, Wearne felt his legs give way, and he fell to his knees in front of Bronson.

Wearne looked down his body, and saw his very lifeblood seeping through his expensive white shirt. But, by then, he found that he did not feel the pain anymore. It felt less like he was dying and more like he was watching someone else die. All there was left in him was resignation… and a question.

Wearne, with the last of his strength, lifted up his head to look squarely at those horrible red eyes of the man who had killed him; the man who was now so calmly watching the dying man before him.

The odd smile was still in place, but now, on the edge of death, Wearne found that the man's smile had a more serious glint to it.

Wearne shook his head slowly, trying to at least delay the darkness that continuously tried to take over his senses. Why had this happened to him? This was supposed to be a simple business transaction. Why had Bronson done this to him? What was there to be gained? To die without knowing why…

Wearne could feel his blood filling his mouth, and thought that he would suffocate by the amount. But he had to talk. He had to know…

He tried to speak, but he found that he could not speak out loud, except for a sickening gurgle. But Bronson seemed to know what Wearne wanted.

"I know what you are thinking, Wearne," Bronson said in a calm, nonchalant tone. "You are wondering why I just did this to you. You have thought about it over and over again in your head, but you just can't quite figure it out. As your mind begins to clear itself of all personality and comprehensible thought, you find that you can still remember one, single word."

Bronson bent down on one knee so that he was at eye-level with the dying man. "And that single word is why." He brought his pistol up again, and put it to Wearne's sweaty forehead. "Well, I'll tell you why." Then he bent forward, so that his mouth was next to Wearne's ear.

"_I don't want any witnesses who could turn against me_," whispered Bronson, his voice so low that Wearne at first could not understand him, "_but most of all_…"

The pistol cocked.

"…_because I can_."

Bronson moved his head… and then pulled the trigger.

The gunshot cut off any screams that Wearne might have tried to make. Bronson looked down emotionlessly as Wearne's body fell to the floor with a slight thud. Dark blood was slowly surrounding the body. Bronson bent down again, and pulled the stack of money from Wearne's lifeless hand.

"I don't think you'll need that anymore," said Bronson. "Being in the career you had chosen, you should have learned in life that greed is the best distraction."

He walked out of the storeroom, and made eye-contact with the attractive-looking barmaid, who had been staring at the closed door in horror since she had heard the three gunshots.

"I am extremely sorry, my dear…" said Bronson politely, "but I am afraid that you have a slight mess to clean up in the back." Then, with a dark chuckle, Bronson walked out of the bar, leaving the barmaid in shock.

The storm was still raging outside. The lightning in the sky seemed to fill the entire sky. But Bronson didn't seem to notice, except to pull his black coat higher over his uncovered head.

There was still so much to do. He felt the coveted contents that he had just killed for in his coat. This was only one step of a much larger plan. Things were starting to move quickly in his plan. He was losing time. The plan… all for the plan. Then Bronson caught sight of the carriage in front of the tavern, waiting for a man that lay dead inside.

Jack Bronson laughed.

**Chapter 1**

In Romania, anyone outdoors after sundown was considered suicidal. There was good reason for this assumption. Romania was considered by most of the world to be one of the most haunted places on the earth.

The country was economically dead in the area of trade, so the Romanians quickly found that, for survival, they had to fend for themselves. Due to the 'secluded' nature of the country (no one in the outside world ever visited), rumors of demons, were-wolves, and other horrific creatures began to spread in the outside world.

But no one could prove or disapprove these rather unrealistic tales due to the fact that no one wanted to share the ill-fated Romanians' deaths if it was true. And so, as the years got longer and longer, the rumors grew in horrendousness and implausibility, until the inevitable point came that the outside world refused to have anything to do with the strange place, where things happened that they couldn't understand. At that moment, Romania was truly on its own, surrounded by a world that was afraid and terrified of its very existence, a world that wished for nothing more than for Romania and its problems to just disappear.

Though the world had no way of knowing this, Romania's stories were more than just rumors. Though some of the stories might have been exaggerated in the multiple conversations in drinking taverns, the majority of the horror was true.

But there were many who knew the truth that wished to keep the rest of the world in the dark, or at least confused, on the true happenings of the country. These people were stationed all over the world, in Paris, Rome, America… all these people grouped together against a common threat.

These individuals created a secret society, one that would protect the world, and Romania itself, from the horrors that were unleashed. Thus was the organization called Knights of the Holy Order.

**Vatican City, Rome**

Cardinal Jinette watched from the confession box with interest as the large, wooden doors to the Church of the Cross's opened. In stepped a man, dripping wet from the rain.

Cardinal Jinette knew this man, had known this man for many years. Of all the people that Jinette had ever worked with in the Knights of the Holy Order, Gabriel Van Helsing was one of the most complicated of them.

Jinette's left hand was resting on his chin. The emerald eyes watched Van Helsing close the doors with a clang and walk slowly towards the booth.

Found at the gates of the church almost four years ago, Van Helsing had no memory of who he was or where he was from. He was a lost soul, and the Cardinal had brought him into the Order, seeing in the young man such intensity and passion that could be shaped and molded for God.

Van Helsing grew to be one of the most efficient and deadly field agents the Order had ever seen. He had gone to places of nightmare and came out victorious. Although it had been many years, Van Helsing had never been able to find any clue to his secret heritage… until a case came to them two years ago. The same infamous Romanian case involving the evil Count Dracula and Princess Anna Valerious, who had died fighting with Van Helsing. Although Van Helsing refused to talk about it, Jinette had guessed that the young man had developed a relationship with Anna before her untimely death.

The ring upon Van Helsing's right hand shown brightly, shining through the large room due to all the mirrors and windows. Jinette knew well what the ring was. It was one of the only possessions that Van Helsing had on his body when he had appeared on the doorstep. An insignia of a dragon, curled in a menacing position, its red eyes blazing. For many years, this ring posed an unsolvable riddle to Van Helsing. Until two years ago.

Although the mystery still had many parts unsolved, several strands had come to light, but by a rather unreliable source… known as Dracula. In their final battle, Dracula told Van Helsing many things. Van Helsing was the right hand of God. Van Helsing had been alive in the fifteen hundreds. Van Helsing had killed Dracula over two hundred years ago. The ring that Van Helsing had been found wearing was the same ring Van Helsing had taken from Dracula's severed finger after he had killed the vampire centuries ago. So many facts… none of which could be proven. In the end, Van Helsing decided that Dracula's death was more important than his own past, and killed the only link to the truth.

Two years ago. And as of yet, no new facts have come to light. But Jinette was sure that, one day, the truth would be revealed. The Lord works in mysterious ways, and Jinette knew that there was a destiny awaited Van Helsing. A destiny so extravagant that no one could imagine it. Not even him.

Jinette came out of his thoughts and again looked back at the approaching man. Van Helsing was dressed in a long black cloak, which swirled in the wind as he walked. A dark velvet fedora sat on his head, tilted just enough to cover the man's penetrating, alert eyes.

Van Helsing walked briskly up to the confession booth, and sat down. He did the sign of the cross, and said the words:

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

Cardinal Jinette opened the booth window. For a moment, the two looked at each other in silence. This situation had been acted and reacted what seemed to be hundreds of times. Although all of them were different in some way or another, they always had generally the same results. Jinette was already sure what the end result of this conversation would be.

"Did you find him?" asked the Cardinal, looking gravely at his agent.

"Yes."

"And…?"

"I had no choice." There was no emotion in Van Helsing's voice. The tone was cold. Apparently, Van Helsing had been more influenced by this mission than he let on, Jinette thought.

"You never do, do you?"

"Dorian Gray was a much greater threat than I had first anticipated. It quickly became clear that it was either him or me." Again, something that Jinette could have guessed Van Helsing would say.

"So he is dead?" A stupid question, to be sure, but one that needed to be clarified with certainty.

"Yes."

"What of the man's portrait?"

"Burned in the mansion's fireplace."

"Any traces to yourself or us?"

Van Helsing smiled thinly. "Come on, Cardinal. I would think you know me better than that."

"Perhaps."

The Cardinal opened the secret door next to Van Helsing

"Come inside, Van Helsing. I know that this is short notice, but we already have another assignment for you."

Van Helsing nodded, and followed the Cardinal into the narrow hallway, which led to the secret laboratory of the Knights of the Holy Order. This was faster than usual, Van Helsing thought. Usually he had a few days break between missions. Not always. But mostly.

All around Van Helsing were groups of men in black cloaks, all working on experiments that seemed to come from the very imagination. To a stranger, it would be a very strange sight, indeed.

Near one of the experimentation tables, Van Helsing saw one of his close friends, Carl.

Carl the monk was a very unusual monk, to say in the slightest. For one thing, he despised being called a monk. Van Helsing could just hear the all-too-familiar line "well, technically, I am just a friar" run through his mind. Yes, all too familiar. Carl had been a part of the Knights of the Holy Order for quite a few years. Seventeen years, to be exact. The blonde-haired man, with a stubby beard and wide eyes, was one cleric who would be just happy staying down in the hidden recesses of the Order for the rest of his days, working on his many experiments (half of which worked). He had a weak-looking physique, and was tall, though thin.

Though the man's outward appearance seemed to make him look weak-minded and helpless, he had proved to be an able-bodied ally, as Van Helsing found in his battle with Dracula. Were it not for Carl, things would not have gone so favorably. As favorable as the entire situation had gone, anyway.

Carl saw Van Helsing as soon as he entered, and gave him a small wave. Unfortunately for the friar, pulling his hand away from his experiment to wave proved to be disastrous. The silver, bejeweled circular device that he had been working on started to roll to the end of the table.

"Now wait a minute!" cried the poor friar, reaching desperately to catch the ball. But his fingers just missed the ball before it hit the ground with a metallic clang.

Van Helsing winced, waiting for the obvious explosion to come. But, after a moment, nothing happened. The field agent sighed.

Carl sighed sheepishly. "Sorry about that!" the friar hollered to the other monks surrounding him, who were now looking at the man pityingly. "Truly sorry, quite clumsy today, I know. My deep and profound apologies—"

But as Carl reached his hand down towards the ball, a sound like a thunderbolt amplified a hundredfold filled the room. Swords fell to the ground in droves, as the blacksmiths brought their hands up to hold their ears in pain. Van Helsing himself was forced to put his hands over his ears. It felt like the entire room was vibrating. Van Helsing lost all sense of direction.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the shrieking, blasting sound was gone. Sighs of relief filled the laboratory, as many of the clerics removed their hands and glowered crossly at the friar.

Van Helsing removed his hands, and saw, with minor surprise, that the Cardinal did not seemed a bit fazed by the outbreak. Actually, Van Helsing wondered if the Cardinal had made any notice of the explosion except with his habitual scowl.

Van Helsing moved through the groups of disgruntled clerics and made his way towards Carl, who had been thrown backwards by the intensity of his creation. Van Helsing helped the man to his feet.

"Quite an entertaining performance, Carl. May I ask the name of the insidious object?"

Carl looked hurt at Van Helsing's tone. "Well, for your information, it is called…"

He stopped suddenly, and frowned, clearly embarrassed.

"Go on," prompted Van Helsing.

Carl's voice was so low that Van Helsing had to step closer.

"_Banshees in a ball_," uttered the humiliated friar.

Van Helsing began to laugh, but quickly turned it into a cough at the sight of the incensed clerics who found Carl's outbreak anything but humorous.

Carl looked at his friend with a hurt expression on his face.

"Now, you could do better than laugh at me, couldn't you?" Carl, trying to ignore Van Helsing, bent back down to pick up the ball. He did it so gingerly that it looked as if it was a poisonous asp. He placed it on the table, and then, thinking better of leaving it to repeat itself, put two heavy books to the sides of the ball.

Finally satisfied that it wouldn't move, Carl turned back to Van Helsing.

"So what happened with Gray?" asked Carl, thinking that he knew the answer.

Van Helsing saw the look on Carl's face, and saw that, apparently, this was becoming a dark pattern.

"Well…"

"He's dead, isn't he?"

Van Helsing grimaced, and guiltily shrugged.

"I knew it!" exclaimed Carl, but with dark looks from his fellow clerics, he lowered his voice. "You always seem to kill your targets, don't you?"

"Maybe that's why they call them targets," replied Van Helsing coolly.

"Van Helsing!" called Cardinal Jinette, who was still standing where he had when Van Helsing had left him.

"I'll see you later, Carl," said Van Helsing, as he left, careful not to tap the table.

"Oh, you could count on it," muttered Carl, as he looked at his experiment ball banefully, clearly wondering whether to finish the experiment or take a hammer to it, knowing that he would enjoy the latter more.

Van Helsing then followed the Cardinal into the briefing room.

Inside the room was a small movie projector, along with two wooden chairs and a large desk. The Cardinal gestured towards one of the chairs, and Van Helsing sat down.

The Cardinal turned on the projector, and a immediately a black-and-white picture appeared on the faded screen; a thin, tall man, with eyes that Van Helsing could tell, even in black and white, were blood red. A strange smile was on the man's lips, one that Van Helsing had rarely seen even on the worst of his enemies.

"Your target for this assignment is Jack Bronson," the Cardinal's voice rang out, "he is a murderer of a member of the Order."

"Why do you need me for this?" asked Van Helsing, though for reasons he could not understand found himself drawn to that terrible face of Jack Bronson, "I mean, don't the London police deal with people like this?"

The Cardinal raises a hand for silence.

"For most of his sort, you would be correct…" then he stopped, as if debating what to say next. "But this man is… different." For a moment, Van Helsing thought he saw a flicker of pain in the Cardinal's eyes. But then it was gone, making Van Helsing wonder if he ever saw it at all.

The projector clicked again, and another picture appeared in Bronson's place.

This showed a picture that was so old, torn, and bent that Van Helsing had to look harder at the picture to decipher anything from it.

It was a man… at least it appeared to be. All facial features of the man were too wrinkled in the picture to see clearly.

"This is John Griffin, the only known scientist who was able to create a serum to render the user invisible."

Van Helsing's eyebrows rose.

"Interesting… I have never heard of such as scientist."

"Neither did the Order, until seven years ago."

Van Helsing looked at the picture again. The picture was extremely unhelpful in saying anything about Griffin.

"Why can you not get a better picture of him?" asked Van Helsing, "There is no way to know what Griffin looks like."

"Don't you think that we have tried?" replied the Cardinal, "All pictures and records, including birth certificates, were somehow destroyed, along with all of Griffin's personal friends and family. All died from 'natural causes.' Even the house was razed to the ground."

Van Helsing nodded. He understood so far.

"So what went wrong with the serum?" he asked.

"The problem is that Griffin missed a very important detail: the side-effects." After a long breath, Jinette continued, "Not knowing what the serum would do, Griffin used the serum on himself. He found that his strength that increased ten-fold, and that he was sharper mentally than ever before. But he found that he could never again become visible after taking the serum. Griffin realized that long exposure to the serum produced madness. He became a monster.

"He was finally killed by a group of townspeople who had realized what he was. We found out about the serum, and decided to intervene by taking the serum and bringing it here. John Griffin was then forgotten… until now."

"What do you mean?"

"For reasons we have not found yet, Bronson has been searching for the invisibility serum."

A brief silence filled the room. Van Helsing was the first to break it.

"But I thought that you had the only remaining sample of the serum-"

Seemingly ignoring Van Helsing, the Cardinal changed the projector picture, this time showing a dead man on a gravel floor, his face unrecognizable, as if someone had tried to blow the man's entire face off.

"Before I answer that, we will go to one week ago," The Cardinal said. "This unfortunate man…" Jinette pointed to the man in the picture, "…had the name of Daryl Wearne, and he was part of the Knights of the Holy Order."

Van Helsing let out a rather vulgar exclamation.

"No blasphemy in the house of God, Van Helsing," admonished Jinette, before continuing.

"For some time, Wearne had been stealing valuable artifacts from the Order's archives, and selling them to the highest bidder. When we found out about this, no more than three weeks ago, we posted an agent, a rather attractive woman, to watch him.

"This agent, one week ago, came across something much larger than any of us had first thought. Wearne had gotten a message from a client to meet him in Romania, and Wearne decided to listen.

"This Wearne sounds like a fool, for him to go to Romania simply for a business transaction," said Van Helsing thoughtfully.

"Wealth and greed can make a man to irrational things, Van Helsing," replied the Cardinal, "you of all people should understand what greed can do to the hearts of men."

Van Helsing nodded. He did know, from bitter experience with evil men, what an evil power like greed could do.

"So," continued the Cardinal, "Wearne did, in fact, meet with his client, as he also met our agent. She posed as a barmaid. She heard and saw much of what happened next, and from what we understand, Wearne provided Bronson with a vial and a map, after which Bronson killed Wearne. Our agent was unable to act due to the importance of returning to the Order with the information. Revealing herself to save a traitor of the Order would not have been beneficial.

"So what does this business with Bronson and Wearne have to do with…?"

Then Van Helsing stopped, realizing that he had just answered his own question. The serum! Bronson must now have…

"I see that you understand now, Van Helsing," said Jinette, "and yes, we did get a sample of Griffin's serum before he died. Unfortunately, we were unable to get anything else due to the suddenness of his death and the efficiency of someone terminating all his links."

"So Bronson now has in his possession the only surviving sample of the invisibility serum," said Van Helsing, "but what about the map? What is that?"

The Cardinal smiled humorlessly. "That is one of the mysteries of this assignment."

A new projection appears, now showing the remains of a map.

"After our agent told us of the meeting, we chose to look through our archives. We reasoned that if Wearne had stolen the invisibility serum from the Order, then the map came from the Order as well. We found that we were short one map after a short census. And not just any map, but a map that leads to the Black Lagoon." The Cardinal stopped for dramatic effect, which seemed to be lost on Van Helsing.

"The Black Lagoon?" asked Van Helsing, smirking slightly. "What kind of name is that?"

The Cardinal ignored the question. "The Black Lagoon is a vast swamp located in Romania—"

"It seems like _everything _evil or strange is located there."

"…It is always covered with an unnatural fog and too immense for complete exploration. Many men have traveled there for the untold secrets hidden deep in the Lagoon."

"What kind of secrets?"

The Cardinal shrugged. "It depends on the version of the story told to you. For some it is countless treasure. For others it is ultimate knowledge. For some it is even the gates of Heaven itself…" The Cardinal paused. "Although, if the latter is true, I would suspect the gates come from below instead of above."

"What makes you say that?"

"The place has a… an evil living there. Whether it is of man or of the Devil, I do not know. But I know there is evil there. Of all the people to travel the dangerous road, most have never returned. Those who did return came back different people entirely. Of all the dangers known there, only one is listed in our archives."

"And what would that be?" asked Van Helsing.

"It is simply called the Creature from the Black Lagoon."

"Wow…" said Van Helsing, an eyebrow raised once again. The name obviously tickled him. "That is sure imaginative."

"The Order is not a successful government institution because of its _imagination_, Van Helsing. The Creature has been a rumor for many years. Although the Creature has always been seen in the villages or local ports, it has been said that it originally came from deep within the Black Lagoon."

"So why would someone steal a map to the Black Lagoon? It sounds like the place is pretty easy to find, anyway."

"No, Van Helsing, it is not. The Black Lagoon is hidden carefully, and only the most skilled of men could make it through the perilous dangers of the road to get there."

"You sound as if you know this as a fact."

The Cardinal was silent for a moment. "We sent a team of the Order, five members I believe, to find the legendary Black Lagoon. None of them ever returned. That was over twelve years ago, after the first sighting of the creature. Eight years ago, we send another team, this time three of the best men we ever trained. Three months later, one man of the three returned. The survivor had been able to produce a map, one with explicit details on how to get through the dangers to the Black Lagoon."

Van Helsing nodded. "Alright, so I get that this Bronson fellow now has the ability to turn invisible and get to the Black Lagoon… but what I want to know is why this man would _want_ to go the Black Lagoon?"

The Cardinal shook his head. "There is now way of knowing for sure. There could be several guesses, every one as likely as the next. It could be that he wants to be the one to find the secrets of the accursed place. With his power, he might very well do so. But there is something else. Something unsettling about the Creature. I suspect that there is much more about both the Creature and Bronson than meets the eye." The Cardinal stood up straight. "Your job is to find Bronson, or eliminate him if capture proves impossible. Then you are to destroy the remaining serum and bring us back the map to the Lagoon."

Van Helsing stood up abruptly. "Alright, when do I start?" He started for the door.

But the Cardinal waved him back to his seat. "This task will be more difficult than you assume, my friend. You will need help on this assignment."

But Van Helsing shook his head. "You know me and how I work, sir. Partners only get in the way—"

"We do _not_!" said an affronted-sounding voice from the other side of the closed door. Van Helsing chuckled, and saw that even the Cardinal seemed to be repressing some sort of humor, by the way his lip twitched.

Van Helsing opened the door, and found Carl standing there, looking at the Cardinal with a shamefaced expression.

"Brother Carl," said the Cardinal, looking at Carl, "do you wish to join in this conversation?"

After a moment, a determined expression covered Carl's face. "Well, I bloody well ought to," he said indignantly, "considering the part I played in Transylvania. You know, Van Helsing, that if it wasn't for me—"

The Cardinal's exasperated voice interrupted. "Yes, yes, Carl, we know. Now, sit."

"But—"

"_Sit_!"

Quickly, Carl sat down, looking at Van Helsing hopefully.

"_You_ _will_ be taking me on this one, won't you… buddy?" asked Carl, looking very much like a poor puppy dog with his tail between his legs.

Van Helsing sighed. "Well, I guess this time I can bring you—"

Carl's face lit up.

"—_if _you promise not to bring anything that could blow us up."

Carl's face became indignant.

"What do you mean '_blow us up_?'?" Carl asked in a huff. "Last time I didn't bring anything that could '_blow us up_'."

The Cardinal then spoke. "Carl's help, as little as that is," with that comment Carl glowered at him, "will not be enough help. You will need more people on this one."

"Cardinal," replied Van Helsing, "the man is mortal. He's just a plain human. Not a vampire, not a were-wolf, not a warlock—"

"_My granny could kill a warlock_," uttered Carl under his breath.

"—Bronson is nothing that I cannot handle on my own. Last time I checked, I was able to kill a vampire and a were-wolf with only the help of two others."

"But this man is different. He…"

Van Helsing looked carefully at the leader of the Knights of the Holy Order.

"What is it, Cardinal?"

The Cardinal let out a small breath. "I went against Bronson a few months ago. We had first noticed him after he killed one of our nuns of the Order. We do not let things like that go unpunished. I, along with two others of the Order, found Bronson in a local bar…"

"And what happened?"

"He is dangerous, Van Helsing. In all my years in the Order, I have never seen a mortal who could move so fast. He killed both of the other agents in the blink of an eye, and had almost killed me. But for some reason I still do not understand, he let me live. It was almost as if… he knew who I was, and knew that leaving me alive to fear him was better than making a martyr to the Order."

"It sounds like he has a pathological need for attention," piped in Carl, but closed his mouth quickly when the Cardinal looked at him.

"There is something else, Van Helsing. If Bronson was like this before the serum, imagine what he will be like after. His already-fast reflexes and speed with increase, _as will his insanity_."

No one spoke for a long while. Then the Cardinal said, in a low voice, "Bronson may become a worse threat than that of Count Dracula if he is not stopped."

Finally, Van Helsing spoke.

"Who do you want me to take?"

**Chapter 2**

"Alright, so let me see if I get this straight," asked Carl, as he and Van Helsing moved from side to side in their cheap carriage. Van Helsing had said that they needed to save their expenses for the actual journey, but this decision didn't seem to make the trip any more comfortable. "We are going to look for two different people, both of whom used to work for the Order, right?"

Van Helsing, who was trying to get fully rested before they came into real danger, grunted.

"The woman's name is Wis— um, no, it is Wilheni… no that's not it, either—"

"Wilhelmina," corrected Van Helsing tiredly, not bothering to open his eyes. He suppressed a pitiful groan. The idea of traveling with Carl for the rest of the mission was starting to look bleaker than the final battle with Bronson.

"Ah, yes, _Wilhelmina _Murray, and the man's name is Jonathan Harker. These two were the best of the best in the Order for about five years, and both of them even led the first group to discover Dracula over ten years ago."

Van Helsing nodded, although the action seemed to be coming out of instinct rather than understanding.

"They even got married at one point, I remember. Oh, well, anyway, Wilhelmina Murray actually became a part-vampire after the Order's first encounter with Dracula, but she is on our side. Imagine that, a good vampire. Anyway, she became the best field agent in the entire order, even you, at least according to the Cardinal—"

Van Helsing was still nodding periodically, though he had long past completely stopped listening to the friar's ramblings. The situation was looking worse and worse by the moment.

Wilhelmina Murray… Van Helsing remembered hearing about her periodically since he joined the Order four years ago. He had never met her, though, because she had retired about a year before he had appeared on the Order's doorstep.

"— and so Murray is the foremost expert in the area of John Griffin and his research. She led all of the work and knows everything the Order knows about him. So that's why the Cardinal picked her, as well as the fact that two of the 'best of the best' is better than one.

"Anyway, then there is this Harker fellow. He was the agent that had successfully made it through the entire road and back to the Black Lagoon and drew the map. So now we are on our way to find them and bring them onto our merry task, though it will not be easy. Both of them have been retired for about four years now… or maybe five, I can't remember. Did I get… everything… right... um, Van Helsing?"

But Van Helsing was now sound asleep, right where he wanted to be. Carl looked at the sleeping form in front of him for a minute, and than finally shrugged and sank into his chair, pondering the mission to come.

_London was very cold tonight_. Wilhelmina Murray looked up into the sky, and could feel the chill of the wind against her face. Oh, how she wished she could transform her body and fly through that breeze! But she dare not. Not here. Not where she could be seen and identified. Her form would be seen by humans, and that she could not condone, unless the situation demanded it. She was not that kind of creature. She was not like her creator. Her creator… Count Dracula. Dracula would have relished the fear and horror produced by most humans that caught sight of him. He loved the power his victims handed him on a silver platter. But she was different. She would rather die. Never would she become anything like Dracula.

Wilhelmina (although she usually went by Mina) waved her raven-black hair to one side, as her hair blew softly in her face. She couldn't believe that it had happened so long ago. Ten years ago. It just seemed so recent. She turned from her balcony and looked at her house. This house had been in her family for thirteen generations. It was as much of a family heirloom as the ruby jewel that hung from her neck, held by a 24-karat golden chain. She put a quivering hand to it.

This was her most prized materialistic possession. She remembered it so well. Her mother, when Mina was a small child, was forced to sell the necklace to a local pawnshop to keep her family from starving many years ago. That was a horrible time. They had sold everything, even the house. Fifteen years later, Mina's family fortune had returned and everything had been regained, but the entire family given the heirloom up for lost.

Then it was returned to them. It had been a gift. Jonathan had given it to her on her 24th birthday… back then; they had known each other three years…

Jonathan… Mina shook her head sadly. She did not want to think of him. Not him. Anything but him…

But the damage was done. She could already see her ex-husband's face, the features that had been engraved into her heart. Features that were so perfectly chiseled, the mouth that curved up charmingly when he smiled, the heart that was so selfless, the mind that was as sharp as a needle, the eyes… the eyes that held a kindness, a tenderness, a love unmeasured whenever he had looked at her. Those same eyes of love could be filled with determination, determination with such strength that Mina remembered finding herself continuously doubting it was the same man.

It had been twelve years since they had met. Mina remembered it well. She had been twenty-one, full of ambition and righteous energy. She had met Jonathan for the first time at the Order.

The first thing she had noticed about him was his intense eyes. They had pierced her to the bone. Jonathan had smiled at her, introducing himself.

That was where it had all begun.

But these were the characteristics that had found their way into her heart, making her love him more and more every day… especially now that he was gone.

Their divorce… It had all been so pointless. Now that she looked back at it. It had all been for something that, now, she would have given to him gladly. Had it really been five years ago?

They ended up getting married on the fourth anniversary of the day they had met. It had been the same year that Jonathan had left on the mission to the Black Lagoon…

She could still remember how he had looked the day he had come back. He had changed into almost a completely different person. What he had seen in all the details she never found out… but she did know that every other member of the team had died on the mission.

Just another thing on the list she would never know about him.

If only she could go to him… tell him how much she still cared…

But the pride they both had held in their hearts was a fierce enemy indeed…

Then it was all gone… the mental picture, the tears, the weakness… it was all replaced by a grim resolve to forget the man that had made her life worth living… the man who had risked his life for her on their mission to Transylvania…

It was replaced with a grim resolve to do anything but remember. Throw herself into battle. Kill evil. Destroy all evil as she wished she wished she could destroy her own foolish feelings.

Mina found herself back into her house, sitting quietly on a wooden, hand-made chair. Another heirloom. At least, she thought it was. It was so hard to keep track of all of them.

She leaned back quietly. It was comforting to know that some things didn't change. This house would never change. It would remain for as long as she willed it. Even the smell remained the same.

If only she could share her feelings with someone. Someone like…

Mina let out a hiss. She would _not _fall into self-pity again. She had made a decision years ago. One that she couldn't take back if she wanted to… it was time to move on.

_What would Jonathan think of you now_? A part of Mina's consciousness sneered at her. _Whining like a lost pup. You pathetic creature. You wouldn't deserve his love even if he did return to you. Not that he ever would. Why would he ever want you_? _You who spurned him at every turn_. _Tell the truth; would _you_ want you back_?

Mina had to shake her head. Despite the fact that she felt idiotic agreeing with herself, she knew she had to set these wayward feelings to rest. She needed to look at and accept the facts. She had made a mistake. It was too late to take it back. Now she had to lay in the bed she made for herself, no matter how uncomfortable it was—

Then she stopped her thinking. There was someone at the door. But it wasn't that someone had knocked. Not yet, at least. No, it was someone walking towards her house. She could hear their footsteps. Another gift from Dracula… or a curse, depending on how she looked at it.

There was more than one person walking towards her house, that much she was sure of. She listened again. Her ears could pick up the faintest quiver of a leaf or the lightest step. One of the two stepped with cautiousness and fear; each step moved with unnatural movements. This person was a man, and was afraid, at that. Stressed was probably a better word.

The other man… the other man puzzled her to the extreme. Unlike the other man, this one used slow, methodical steps, each landing with equal measure. This man knew what he was doing and where he was going. She listened keenly, as she picked up the conversation between the two men…

"You know something, now I'm not sure that this is a great idea," whimpered Carl, looking nervously around the deserted London streets.

"Relax, Carl," Van Helsing sighed, looking at Carl with the same look as the clerics from the Order, "No demonic stalkers are waiting for you here."

"How do you know?" snapped Carl, irritably turning to Van Helsing, "do _you _know every evil creature that lives in London."

"Carl—"

"Don't 'Carl' me, Van Helsing," cried Carl, bending down to pick up his clerical hat that had fallen to the floor in the wind, "I read; I _know _what evil lies in this country. Need I remind you about—?"

"No, you don't need to remind me about Mr. Hyde," Van Helsing commented dryly, "I remember him just fine without you bringing it up."

Van Helsing looked keenly at the house of the woman they had traveled to meet. It was a large house, one of noble blood.

"— are you and me for that matter, walking into a place where we have no idea what kind of pure, unadulterated evil is waiting for—"

Ignoring his friend (not for the first time), Van Helsing walked up the marble steps toward the two-door entrance. They both got to the door, and Carl immediately shut up. But as Van Helsing began to lift is hand to knock on the door, the door proceeded to creak open. Standing in the doorway was an attractive, young woman. Mid-thirties, if Van Helsing guessed correctly. Piercing blue eyes watched the two strangers carefully.  
"Yes?" the woman asked, looking at the two curiously. Her tone was placid. Van Helsing knew she was suspicious of them. As she should be. She had never seen them before. But at least she was being cordial.

"Hello," said Van Helsing, tipping his hat at her politely. "Are you Wilhelmina Murray?"

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who are you?"

"The name is Van Helsing," he replied, and watched as the woman's eyes widened at the name of the most notorious murderer in Paris, "and this is Carl, a friar for the Knights of the Holy Order."

The woman's eyes turned to slits from the name of the Order.

"You two are from the Order?" she asked, now looking at both of them with distrust.

"Yes, ma'am."

She looked at them for a moment. Then she sighed impatiently. "Get inside before you getting mugged," the woman finally said, opening the door wider.

"Thank you," commented Van Helsing, stepping into to the woman's residence. Van Helsing and Carl followed the woman into a giant living room. The carpet was dark brown and covered every inch of the floor. They passed dozens of rooms; each with handcrafted desks and chairs, couches, and fireplaces. All of the rooms were larger than some peoples' houses.

After a few minutes of walking, the woman brought them to a beautiful room, filled with lovely furniture and windows. "Please sit," the woman said, gesturing to a group of three chairs sitting next to a hot fire.

Carl and Van Helsing complied, and the woman joined them in a chair opposite them. They watched each other over an oval desk.

The fire played on the woman's face, making her have an almost angelic quality.

"Yes, I am Wilhelmina Murray," she finally said, speaking after a long bout of silence. "But I don't know why you are here. I specifically told the Order than I quit."

"That is really not an option now," replied Van Helsing, "we need your help. We can't do this without you."

Mina smirked bitterly. "What could the Order _possibly _want so badly that they would ask my help?"

Van Helsing replied simply. "The serum of John Griffin."

Mina's eyes stared at Van Helsing, being sure that there must be some mistake. Her mind raced. Was it possible? After all these years… could the ghost of John Griffin's experiment return to haunt her?

"What do you mean?" Mina said, still using a candid tone. "I thought that the Order had the last sample to exist—"

"The Order _did _have the last sample," interrupted Van Helsing. There was no doubt in Mina's mind that this Van Helsing was telling the truth. He was dead serious.

"What happened?"

"A man in the Order who got greedy for his own gain."

Mina growled. "Let me guess. This greedy Order member was willing to sell secrets of the Order to the highest bidder."

"Exactly." Van Helsing nodded, seeing that his first notion of her brilliant mind was well-funded.

Mina thought about this for a moment. The implications of what this man was telling her were beyond description. Even though she knew that all humanity, no matter how they were raised and taught, had evil inside of them, she found it hard to truly believe that such a person would sell out the Order from inside out. The thought just seemed so absurd.

"Tell me more," she said. "Why is it that the Order forced you to come begging me for help…?"

"Well, I wouldn't actually call it 'begging'…" muttered Carl, but the other two ignored him.

"… When this problem seems to be one easily fixed by the Order?"

Van Helsing shook his head. "That is where the problem lays. It is not the simple fact that someone inside the Order sold the remaining serum…" His eyes seemed to blaze. "It is _who _this man sold it to."

"And who would this be?"

"What we know is small, but it is more than enough for a mission. The traitor, a man by the name of Wearne, stole two items from the Order archives."

"Two, but I thought you said this only involved the serum."

"As I said, the problem gets clearer as the story goes along," commented Van Helsing. "Wearne evidently was paid to steal these two items for a client, and he evidentially did what he was paid to do. He brought these items to a meeting point, where he was supposed to be paid in full by his client.

"But his client had another kind of payment in mind. As soon as the items were handed over, the client murdered Wearne. This client has been identified as Jack Bronson by the Order."

"If one of the items was Griffin's serum, what was the other item?"

"A map to a place called the Black Lagoon—"

But before Van Helsing could finish, Mina interrupted. Her eyes changed drastically, and she seemed to stare at him. "What did you say?" she asked.

"What part?" Carl asked.

"Did you say a map to the Black Lagoon?"

Van Helsing nodded. So now she knew that this case would deal just as closely with Jonathan Harker as with her.

"So now you understand that there is more to this case than just you. Jonathan Harker—"

"So you are going to go and get Harker to join in this little group?" asked Mina, trying to hide her eyes from the two men. Van Helsing nodded.

"There is much that we have to discuss," said Van Helsing.

Then Mina noticed that Carl looking at her from the corner of her eye. She turned to him, looking as serious as death. "Carl, I have a question."

Carl turned to her.

"Yes?" Carl asked.

"Do I look like 'pure, unadulterated evil' to you?"

Carl immediately turned deathly white.

"You— you— you _heard that_?" sputtered Carl, looking more embarrassed than Van Helsing had ever seen, even with Cardinal glowering at him.

"I take it that since you are from the Order than you know of my…" Mina seemed to be thinking of a good word, "… condition."

"So are you choosing to join us?"

"Indeed I am, Mr. Van Helsing," said Mina. "So I suggest we get moving. In the meantime, tell me everything about the mission."

"Everything?"

"Everything…"

**Chapter 3**

Everyone who lived in a radius of four blocks away knew that Jonathan Harker was an awkward man. A complete nutter, in some opinions. He was always alone, never going anywhere near the town. A paid boy from the village (Jim was his name) went back and forth to get the man's groceries or anything important he needed. When questioned by the neighbors, Jimmy had replied that he himself had never seen the man. He simply got a letter from Harker telling him what he needed, and where to leave it. Usually, Jimmy would leave everything on the front porch, and leave immediately. The fact remained that, for over three years, no one had ever seen the reclusive Jonathan Harker.

Jonathan Harker looked down without comprehension at all the papers littered over his desk. His dark blue eyes swept over the random documents and maps, things that used to give the 36-year-old man pleasure, but now… now it only brought back painful memories of old times… times that were now long past.

_Has it really been four years already_? He shook his head in denial. It just seemed so recent, as if it had happened only days ago. He remembered it all with surprising ease. Sometimes he wished it was harder to bring the painful memories back to mind.

Jonathan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. His hand slowly slid from his nose and he twirled the end of his black mustache. He had only just let it grow.

Thoughts such as these were dangerous to him, he knew. Time to think meant time to remember… remember all of his field missions that he tried so hard to forget.

_The look of terror on the vampire's face as Harker stabbed him through the heart with a silver stake…the infinite sadness of the female witch as Harker pulled the trigger, taking her head off…the endless screams of the dead that rang in his dreams forever; the screams of mercy, when there was none given…_

Jonathan shook his head. He already knew where this line of thinking would go. He would not think about her. Not now. Not again. But if only that was the only thing he didn't want to remember. There were several things he remembered. Several involving murder, all of them involving the Knights of the Holy Order. The past actions that, when revisited in dreams, would make him awake screaming…

He couldn't bear to think of them. Maybe never… they, like the subject of Mina, felt like an open wound, while an invisible hand slammed into it again and again… never ceasing. It was an unending torment.

All his emotions seemed to slam into him all at once. Anger… Guilt… Despair… Horror… Love… Hate… all of the feelings he always kept inside threatened to brim over the surface of his mind. Threatening to overpower him, until finally, he was overcome.

For the first time in what seemed like years, Jonathan screamed. The gut-wrenching shriek was filled with every negative feeling in his body. Filled with hatred for everything he was, he wanted to throw something. Without comprehending exactly what he was doing, Jonathan picked up the portrait of himself, covered with glass, and threw it with all his might at the opposite wall. The portrait seemed to shatter in thousands of pieces, the sound booming like a cannon.

Then there was only silence.

Jonathan knew who he really. He hated what he had become. What the Order had made him. But most of all… he hated himself.

Breathing heavily, he looked down at the glass shards covering the floor. One of the shards, turned sideways on the wall, was big enough that he saw a reflection of himself. He looked carefully at what he saw. He had changed since he retired from the Order. He had lost a little of his top-performance physique and his tanned color was all but gone… but the latter was understandable due to the fact that he never left the house.

The figure that stared back at him through the glass was the same person… and yet completely different at the same time. It was like looking at a copy of himself gone horribly wrong. It wasn't that he was unclean or ill-kept… his clothes were still perfect and his hygiene was above-average compared to most. It was the way he held himself. It was as if the light had been sucked out of him, making him an icon of defeat.

Jonathan heard a deep, hysterical laughter. It was a usual laugh. Not something that a sane person did. He thought for a moment that whoever could laugh like that must be insane. But there was no one else in the house. How would someone get in…?

Then he realized that the laughter was coming from his own lips.

Jonathan began to pace furiously. He didn't want to stop moving. How far he had fallen from the highest in the Order to the lowest of common folk… it _was_ laughable, now that Jonathan thought about it. No wonder he was laughing hysterically. It was better than breaking things.

Ironic how life is; on the day that he quit, the Order was about to promote him for his "outstanding work in the field."

Jonathan snorted at the thought.

_Outstanding work in the field_.

Of all the things they could have told him that day; that was the worst option of all of them. Who would want to get a promotion because of the deaths of so many? Those deaths being the exact reason he wanted to quit in the first place?

Jonathan plopped back into his desk's chair. He stared in contemplation at the place where the glass portrait had not moments ago been hanging in perfection. His eyes narrowed, his lips pursed. He sat thinking. His fingertips were pressed together, directly under his chin.

_How many things would be different if I had taken a different step somewhere in my life_? He thought. The thought intrigued him. What _would _have happened in life with just a slight movement to the left or right on his part? Would someone still be alive? Would someone now be dead? What secrets would have remained unsolved or forgotten? Quickly, the thought became maddening. Thousands of possibilities rammed into him. Maybe… if he had done things differently… Mina would still be his wife… and… Jacinta might still be alive… Jonathan shook his head again.

No, he mustn't think about her. He couldn't bear it again…

At that moment, there was a knock at the front door. Then again, this time a little harder. Jonathan looked at the door dourly. Who would dare come on his property and touch his door like that? All of his neighbors in the community knew not to disturb him… It had to be something important. Maybe someone was sick and needed help.

Quickly, Jonathan rose from the chair and walked briskly over to the door. His legs wobbled slightly and disorientation shook his mind slightly. Whoever this was had sure picked a bad time, with Jonathan just having a nervous fit and all that.

"Hang on, I'm coming," he growled, finally opening his door. Jonathan's eyes stared into the eyes of a stranger. Quickly, Jonathan's eyes studied the face, downwards, and than back up again.

It was a black-cloaked man. Thirties, or so. Certainly a rough exterior. A velvet fedora decorated the top of the man's head, where thick black hair slightly spilled out. Next to the man, but hidden slightly behind him, as a smaller man. This one had blonde hair and quite a nervous disposition.

After only a second of studying them, Jonathan knew that he had never seen either of these men before. That made them suspicious. He didn't like strangers. And most definitely not at his doorstep.

"Who are you and what do you want?" demanded Jonathan, looking from the one man to another. He felt the bulge in his coat jacket of the small revolver that he used to discourage any trespassers. Not that he planned to use it. Just an extra incentive in case some teenage ruffians planned on having a little fun on his property. Maybe a shot or so in the air to scare them off. But he had a feeling that for this fedora-clad man, it would take more than a sky shot to scare him away.

_It never hurts to be prepared_.

"Van Helsing," said the tall mysterious man, tipping his fedora in greeting slightly. He then gestured to the other man, "and this is Carl, a monk."

Then Carl moved to the left, and the sight behind him took Jonathan's breath clear away. It wasn't possible…

"And I believe that you two already know each other," said Van Helsing.

Jonathan stared into the eyes of Mina Murray for what seemed like forever. Unknown to him, Mina was doing the exact same thing. Both were having the mixed feelings of wanting to immediately embrace and kiss or pick up something heavy and hurl it at the other. Thousands of thoughts went through both of their minds. Things that they wanted to say; things that they knew not to say; things that would be awkward to say…

"Hello, Jonathan," Mina finally said; her face and voice impassive to her inner emotions, "it's been a long time."

"It's been at that," replied Jonathan, looking into the eyes of the woman who had stolen his heart so many years ago. It seemed so unusual that he had just an hour ago fantasized about what he would do if she was in front of him. Now that she was, his mouth seemed as dry as a desert.

Mina simply wanted to throw herself into Jonathan's arms and drown in his embrace. Although Jonathan felt the same impulse of action, he knew that it was no use. She no longer loved him; he could see it in her face. The unmistakable love that once shone through her eyes was gone. Gone as if it had never existed. Maybe for her, it had never existed. Maybe it was only wishful thinking on his part all those years ago.

Maybe she didn't want to be here with the two men in the first place… Then Jonathan thought about that for a moment. What were all these people doing here in the first place?

Jonathan coughed lightly. He moved his head sharply to the side, gesturing inside. "Come in," he said gruffly.

The others complied, and several moments later everyone was in Jonathan's living room. Jonathan was sitting in the chair that had been at the desk. He had taken it and put it in front of the desk, as to see his company better. Van Helsing and Carl were seated on the long couch, which could have seated all of them. Mina had chosen to stand near her companions, but a little farther behind them.

Perhaps to give herself some space between her and Jonathan.

"So, Mina, what are you doing here, besides catching up on an Order reunion?" asked Jonathan finally, looking at Mina just as coldly as she was at him. _Two can play at this game, my dear_, he thought.

Mina felt her heart fall into her stomach at the look Jonathan gave her. His eyes held no love for her; only impatience and bad memories. He didn't love her... She was too late. Mina could feel tears threatening to squeeze through the glands in her eyes. But she quickly pushed them back. _I refuse to cry in front of him_; she cried in her head. _I refuse to show such petty weakness. _

After a moment, Mina found her voice again. She was surprised by how calm and cold she sounded. The polar opposite of what she was feeling inside. "These two men are from the Knights of the Holy Order, Harker," she said, "and they need your help."

Jonathan's reaction was very much like that of Mina's. "Why would I want to help the Order? What would the Order want done so desperately that it would need to ignore my resignation?"

Van Helsing looked surprised at this, but only slightly. "You resigned from the Order?" Carl asked.

Jonathan chuckled caustically, though seeing his cockeyed smile again made Mina's heart flutter. "Yes, I did. On the same day that they decided to give me a promotion."

"Why did you resign?" asked Carl.

"For the same reasons that I would have gotten that promotion—" he turned and looked keenly at Van Helsing. "I can't say that I know all about you, Mr. Van Helsing. But I know that you are notorious for your vigilantism."

Jonathan saw something flicker in Van Helsing's eyes. Jonathan smiled ruefully. _He knew it, too_, thought Jonathan. _Van Helsing knew what all other Order agents knew_. _Some might figure it out later, some already knew_… _but in the end, the truth would be known to every single person in the Knights of the Holy Order_. _The only thing different between me and all the rest of the agents is that I talk about the truth. Their either choose to ignore it or keep it deep inside_.

"You feel it too, don't you?" Jonathan's eyes seemed on fire with the intensity he watched Van Helsing. "You feel the weight of each person you kill; you see their faces in your dreams every night…"

He stopped talking, simply thinking. Van Helsing refused to stare at him straight in the eyes, which was pretty much the same as an affirmation, in Jonathan's opinion.

"But I doubt that you came here for a trivial chat with a has-been. Please enlighten me; _why _would the ever-glorious Knights of the Holy Order want me to come back?"

Van Helsing threw a glance at Mina, who nodded once. It was Mina who spoke next. "Do you remember John Griffin?"

Jonathan searched his mind. Then he remembered. John Griffin was the scientist who had created an invisibility serum… a serum that ended up bringing about his death.

"Yes, I remember him. What does he have to do with this?"

"The only surviving sample of the serum was stolen from the Order's archives by a madman," said Mina, her icy countenance fully restored.

"I still can't see how this has anything to do with me," said Jonathan. "If I remember correctly, I had nothing to do with the Griffin case. That was all yours. So why is the Order involving me in this?"

"The serum was not all the man took," replied Mina. "He also took a map; one that if I remember was one you wrote yourself."

Jonathan said nothing. He didn't need to. He knew exactly what she was talking about. His eyes narrowed at nothing in particular. He stood, deep in thought.

"The Black Lagoon," he muttered to himself. The others heard him. "So that's the game, is it?"

Then Jonathan finally answered. His eyes aimed themselves at Van Helsing.

"No."

There was a moment of shocked silence. No one moved. Carl's face showed shock. Van Helsing looked as if he had suspected a little delay. Mina's face betrayed none of her emotions.

"No?" asked Carl, incredulous.

"Yes, the answer is no. I can't go with you." His voice was strong.

Mina spoke, her voice growing menacing. "Can't… or won't?"

"I gave up that life a long time ago, and I never want to go back."

"You are important to this mission," said Van Helsing, still not moving from where he stood.

"What do you need me for?" he gestured to Mina. "You already have Mina, one of the best. All you need is another map—"

"A map is only that; a map," replied Van Helsing. "And a map can do only so much. We need a living, breathing human being, one who has been through all these dangers and passed unscathed."

"Whoever said anything about unscathed?" Jonathan spoke so softly that it could have easily been missed. But all of the people in the room heard his words.

"You are also the only person to have ever seen the Creature and survived."

Van Helsing saw Harker bristle at the name of the Creature.

"Oh, I remember the Creature… the memories haunt me every day." Jonathan's words came out in a hiss. "It is a creature of nightmare. A creature without emotions or feelings. Those reptilian eyes bored holes into me as it systematically killed the others."

Jonathan let out a little laugh. It was a laugh filled with everything but humor. "It's rather funny, looking back at it. We didn't even know that the Creature's claws were poison-tipped until Deland fell over in violent convulsions…" He stopped speaking, brooding.

"As horrible as that mission must have been for you, it is the past," said Van Helsing. "This is the present. Others will die just like your partners if you don't help." Then Van Helsing continued, softy. "Believe me; horrible memories are better than having no memories at all."

"Wait a minute…" said Jonathan, as he seemed to not hear Van Helsing's latest words. "You mean you actually want to follow this madman _into _the Black Lagoon. Do you understand—?"

"You are a _fool_, Harker."

The sentence was said so low that it sounded as a whisper in the wind. But Jonathan heard it, as did Carl and Van Helsing. Jonathan turned around, and glared at Mina. She stood rooted to the floor, her hands on her hips in a feminine fashion.

Rage filled Jonathan's face. He looked almost ready to strike her. "What did you say?"

Mina glanced at him indifferently. "I said that you are a fool," she repeated, practically spitting the words, "and I mean it. Your folly could mean the death of us all." She glowered at him. "Now get up off of your lazy behind and actually start saving the world. And stop feeling sorry for yourself. It's unbecoming of your past reputation."

The former couple glared at each other with obvious fury. The mixed feelings they both held were hitting a boiling point extremely quickly. Both wanted to do so many things all at the same time that it was maddening. Hug each other, kiss each other, hit each other, spit on each other, bite each other… both negative and positive reactions seemed to pummel the two from all directions.

_Van Helsing is right; I am the only person who gives them the best chance of success_.

But another part of Jonathan's personality sneered. _Why should you held any of them_? _They work for the Order, and you know from bitter experience how the Order works. Why give them another chance to hurt you_?

_It doesn't matter about me_, the other part of his personality countered coolly. _What matters is protecting the world from this madman and the Creature_. _And if that makes my life a little uncomfortable… so what_? _What's more important_? _Your happiness or peoples' lives_?

He knew the answer. He knew who was right. And at that moment, Jonathan made a decision.

"Fine," he spit out, finally turning away from Mina with disgust, "I'll help you."

At that moment, a hysterical laughter filled the house, vibrating around the room.


	2. Part 2

**Chapter 4**

"That laugh, where's it coming from?!" yelled Van Helsing, pulling out two pistols from his coat with fluid-like movements.

The insane cackling got louder and louder. It seemed to be coming from every direction, suffocating them.

All four looked around frantically and then at each other, all thinking the same thing.

Suddenly, Van Helsing felt something slam into his chest, knocking him several feet into the air and into a hand-crafted bookcase. He had felt something crack as he fell, although he wasn't sure if it had been the wood on the bookcase or his ribs. He would find out soon enough. Whatever had hit him, he knew three things about it. One, he hadn't seen anything coming at or connecting with him. Two, there was more than one object that connected with him. Three, the objects felt like human fists.

Jonathan remembered his hidden pistol in his coat. He pulled it out, his eyes searching carefully. Van Helsing stood up, groggily. Carl was leaning against a wall, completely and truly terrified. And still, the laughter rang through the house.

Jonathan, seeing a vase fall to the ground, fired two rounds into the wall near the fall, but still the laughter continued.

Van Helsing was still attempting to gather what was left of his wits. Whatever hit him took more out of him than he first realized. He felt like he had just gotten run over with a horse carriage… including several horses. He groaned. Maybe several _dozen _would be more appropriate in describing the pain.

Mina flew into the air with a sudden jolt and fell back to the floor on her back. Another crack, although nothing she couldn't shrug off after a moment. A disembodied voice replaced the laughter. "Are we all having fun yet?"

Even though the voice was completely foreign to him, Van Helsing felt as if he could recognize it immediately. Although he had never heard it before, he knew exactly who it was.

"Jack Bronson."

Van Helsing's eyes narrowed around the room. "I should have realized that you would have follow us. Know your enemy."

"Well said, my friend," said the voice, followed by a chuckle. _Good_, Van Helsing thought. _Make him feel cocky_. _Cocky villains are always the ones that make mistakes_.

Mina jumped up from the ground in such a swift movement that Van Helsing missed it entirely. In less than a second, Mina was standing. And just as fast, she kicked upwards in an arc. A groan of pain rewarded her efforts.

"Sorry," she said, "but no naked man is getting his hands anywhere near me while I can help it."

The growl of pain turned into a sickening chuckle.

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Murray," said Bronson. His voice still held a casual, nonchalant tone. "And don't worry; I'm not the groping sort."

"Well, you know us London girls," replied Mina, just as casual, "we don't like taking any chances with all you hormonal men—"

Mina flew backwards in unexpected pain. Van Helsing used the moment of Mina on the ground to let loose a barrage of bullets in the place where Bronson should have been standing. But, yet again, the bullets slammed harmlessly into the opposite wall. She jumped back up to her feet, and kicked hard at what looked for like nothing but air. But her foot connected with something. Bronson shrieked in a high voice. _Apparently_, thought Van Helsing, _Mina connected with a much more painful area_. Then there was only silence. Mina looked at Van Helsing and Jonathan with a question in her eyes.

"Did I knock him out?"

"I don't know…" said Van Helsing thoughtfully. He knew that connecting like that had the power to down a man. But Bronson was no ordinary man.

Mina slowly traced her foot down on the floor; feeling for the unconscious body that they all hoped was there. But there was nothing there. Just as they feared. Bronson was still there.

"He's not here. Keep your eyes peeled—?" started Mina, but then something solid slammed into Jonathan, knocking him up towards the ceiling and back down with a crash. The insane laughter returned.

"Haven't you learned yet that you can't fight what you can't see?" the invisible man scoffed, his voice mocking and condescending.

"Maybe you're right," replied Van Helsing, "but I can sure try."

Bronson laughed again. Just as quickly, several things happened at once. Mina slammed head-first into a wall. Harker slumped to the ground forcibly as he started to stand up. Carl screamed as his head pounded into the wall he was again. All three were on the ground. Now it was only Van Helsing and Bronson.

Van Helsing fired both of his pistols in an arc, making sure that he didn't hit Carl, Mina, or Jonathan.

But as soon as he fired the first bullet, Van Helsing's pistols flew into the air after something feeling very close to a wrist slammed into his arms, and he felt the air leave his body as Bronson connected his fist with his chest.

Van Helsing fell to the floor with a groan. He felt something heavy push against him. Kneeling directly on top of him, making it sure that he couldn't move. Van Helsing felt hot breath against his face. He saw one of his fallen gun lift into the air, and aim directly at his head.

"I would have thought that being so high in the Order would have given you more common sense," Bronson sneered. "Enough common sense to know to not get involved with the likes of me. Too late now, you know. Just an observation." The pistol cocked. "Too bad the Order didn't teach you more on matters of survival."

"They did me."

Unexpectedly, something smashed into Bronson. The bulk that was on top of Van Helsing suddenly lifted. He then heard an audible grunt as Bronson hit the floor with a crash. .  
"And I learned well." Helsing then realized that the voice was Carl's.

He looked up, and saw that Carl was standing in front of him, and on the floor were the remains of a priceless vase. Mina and Harker were standing up behind Carl carefully. Bronson must have hit them as hard as he had hit him.

"Sorry about that, Mr. Harker," Carl said sheepishly, turning slightly to the owner of the vase. "But I… well, saw my chance—"

"You took it," finished Jonathan, smiling faintly. The smile seemed at odds with the present situation. "Don't worry about it. I didn't like the color anyway. Why wants to own a puce—?"

Then another vase shattered near them. The pistol in Van Helsing's hand twirled athletically, firing several rounds into the wall near the fallen vase.

"Oh, what fun!" laughed Bronson, "although I am sure, Van Helsing, that Mister Harker does not appreciate having his living room redecorated. I do think that this would be much more interesting if you were a better shot."

"How to you know my name?" snarled Van Helsing. He backed up, so that all four were together, back to back against the wall.

"Well, it wasn't that hard to figure out, you know," replied Bronson, taking the manner of one explaining the climax of a mystery novel. "Your face is quite well known abroad. And as for your plot…" he smiled. "Let's just say you should guard what you say more thoroughly. Although I have to admit that your plan has merit, it has much to be desired."

Bronson laughed again. There was still no sign of the man. No random movement or mistake gave him away.

"And what is left to be desired?" asked Van Helsing, now just playing for time; time that Bronson could make a mistake.

"Oh, well, for starters, you are not thinking about one major fact… what if something tragic would happen to poor Harker here? With him dead, you have nothing."

Then Jonathan felt himself grabbed by the throat, and thrown to the ground. The hand tightened and tightened. Jonathan could see Van Helsing with his raised guns, but knew that Van Helsing didn't want to risk hitting him by mistake. Darkness started to cloud his eyes.

_So this is how it will end_, thought Jonathan. _This is how my life as a monster-killer is going to end; being killed by an average serial killer _after _my retirement. I hate irony._

He started to close his eyes, as a sweet, lovely sensation covered the knowledge that he was in the throes of being strangled. So this was what it felt like to die. He had come close several times before. But never like this. It was time to give in… to sleep…

Then he heard a pain-filled cry, and the pressure at his neck was gone altogether.

Then he felt himself fall into deep unconsciousness…

"Is he dead?"

Jonathan suddenly awoke mentally when he heard the voice of Van Helsing.

Jonathan felt another pair of hands surround his neck. But these were different than the last ones. The other pair of hands was coarse, gritty, and painful. They had also tried to kill him. But these new hands… they touched his skin so softly, so delicately… they almost felt… familiar…

He remembered the same hands used to caress his face, and he remembered his own hands trailing themselves over another face… the face of a woman…

Jonathan opened his eyes slowly. He saw Mina kneeling over him, looking at him carefully and he saw that it was her hands that were on him. For a moment, and just for a moment, Jonathan thought he saw love in her eyes. But then it was gone, replaced by the familiar coldness. She must have seen him awake.

"No… he's alive," she said, removing her hands from Jonathan. Jonathan stood up. He looked around groggily.

"Where's Bronson?" he asked, not seeing any signs of the madman… except for a broken window.

"You can thank Mina for that," replied Van Helsing, "when she saw you getting strangled she lunged at Bronson with such unnatural speed that it took Bronson by surprise. Mina slammed into him full-force, crashing them both out of the front window and out into the street. By then, Bronson was gone."

Jonathan groaned loudly, gingerly rubbing the bruises on his neck. His back felt pain. Probably came from falling on the floor so hard.

"We had better leave here as quickly as possible," said Mina, looking around at the bullet holes in the walls. "Before he comes back."

"Yes, We wouldn't want sir no-clothes-required coming back, now do we?" asked Carl.

Jonathan said nothing, deep in thought.

"How are we to make sure that he isn't following us from this point on?" Carl asked.

"He won't," said Van Helsing.

"What's makes you so sure?" asked Mina.

"He has no reason to follow us from this point," replied Van Helsing, "he wants to get to the Black Lagoon, and he wants to get there as soon as possible. He's not going to stop just to make sure we aren't following him, which he is sure we are going to do."

"Well," said Mina, a charming smile coming to her lips, "I have never been one to disappoint…"

**Chapter 5**

Van Helsing, Carl, Harker, and Mina were all sitting at a small table, inside a quaint little bar they had found not far from Harker's home. Though the prices were a bit high, the food was not bad at all (although, health-wise, the food was the equivalent of a bowl of grease and pork fat). Van Helsing was slowly chewing a tough piece of steak, while Mina and Jonathan had both gotten the meat and vegetable stew order.

Carl, on the other hand, was quite shocked and horrified at the conditions of the tavern.  
"Look at this!" exclaimed the poor friar, shoving an empty plate into Van Helsing's face. Van Helsing looked at the plate, clearly confused. "Um, Carl…?" he said uncertainly, "What's wrong with it?"

"No, _look_!" Carl snarled, pushing the cup more into Van Helsing's face. "Look at how _filthy _it is!" Carl took a deep breath in horror. "And to think that this tavern is allowed to stay open… I'll never understand this."

"Don't try, Carl," said Mina, her eyes of the friar, "only those raised in dank places like this know that hygiene is not on the top list of priorities. Surviving is hard enough in these parts."

Carl looked at Mina, silently contemplating her words. Jonathan put down his mug of cheap beer with a thud, making the other three of the group look at him.

But Jonathan had his eyes fixed on Van Helsing. "So, Van Helsing," he said quietly, "what is your plan of action?"

Van Helsing looked at the three faces now directed at him. They all were looking at him as a leader.

Anger nested itself into his heart. This was exactly why he didn't like to have partners. They all expected him to lead them into Hell and back again. But what if he didn't want to be the leader. What if he failed? What if Harker and Murray died like Anna? Once was more than he could bear, but not again… not again would he let that happen. The two former Order members could hold their own in such an assignment, they didn't need him… but then why were they willing to follow him?

"Van Helsing?"

Van Helsing looked up at Mina, who was looking at him with a sense of understanding in her eyes.

Van Helsing coughed. "There are some things we need to talk about before we do anything else."

"And what would that be?" asked Mina.

"Motivation... we can't go after him unless we know why he's going there."

"Let's start from the beginning, then," said Jonathan.

Van Helsing thought about everything the Cardinal had told him. "I have a feeling that Bronson's plan has something to do with when Griffin died. How did Bronson know about the serum, and on top of that, how did he know that the Order had it? That would take a lot of preliminary planning.

"The one thing that keeps jumping at me how everything linked to Griffin was mysteriously destroyed, as well as the people who knew him. I have a feeling that Bronson was linked from the beginning."

"An interesting theory," said Jonathan. "But if there was such a link, I'm sure the Order would have found it."

"Then who destroyed everything after Griffin died?" asked Carl. "There has to be someone else behind the scenes here. Those people didn't just kill themselves."

"I didn't say they did," said Jonathan. "I agree that there is foul play involved. I'm just saying I think it's kind of a reach going for Bronson."

Van Helsing raised his hands upwards. "Alright, we just need to know the questions to be asking ourselves. The big question that has the most to do with this situation is this; why is Bronson so interested in the Black Lagoon?"

No one answered. Each person was trying to think of an answer.

"Could it have something to do with the treasure supposedly hidden there?" asked Carl.

"Possibly," said Jonathan. "But I have a feeling that Bronson's plans include the Creature."

"But why would he want anything from the Creature?" asked Mina. "It doesn't make sense."

"The mind of a madman makes sense only to the madman himself," said Van Helsing. "But I have found that in the madman's mind, there is always a flicker of reason within it. Those madmen that have the flicker of reason are always the most dangerous criminals of all."

"And it is plain to see that Bronson's motives have more than a flick of reason. It seems that his warped sense of reason is what drives him."

"A terrifying thought, indeed," said Jonathan, taking a sip of his alcohol.

"We all know that we need to get to the Black Lagoon to stop Bronson," said Van Helsing. The other three nodded.

"But Bronson was right about one thing, and that was when he said we can't fight what we can't see… which means that we need to learn if our enemy has a weakness."

Jonathan's eyes lit up in understanding.

"So what you are proposing," said Jonathan thoughtfully, "is that we try to find out if there are any faults with the invisibility serum."

Van Helsing nodded. "But we should start immediately for the Black Lagoon. If we don't, Bronson will have accomplished his goal before we are anywhere close. So I think that we split into two groups, one to trace all the steps of John Griffin, find out if the first sweep missed anything, while—"

"I was part of the first sweep, Van Helsing," said Mina, "and I know that we didn't miss anything."

"For all our sakes, I hope you _did_ miss something," replied Van Helsing coldly. Mina was silent.

"Harker, you and I will go to the Black Lagoon. Mina, you and Carl will go retrace your steps in your investigation on John Griffin. If you find anything, I know that you have…" Van Helsing raised an eyebrow, "_talents­ _that can get you there as soon as you find anything."

He looked at the other three, who were all thinking carefully.

"Well?" asked Van Helsing, looking from one person to another. "Harker?"

Jonathan thought for another moment, and then sighed thoughtfully. "It is a good plan, I dare say," he finally said begrudgingly, "but there is too much that can go wrong."

"True," said Mina, "but I think that it is the best course of action for an assignment such as this."

Carl put his hand up meekly.

"What?" Van Helsing asked, irritability heard in his voice.

"What if I don't _want _to go with Mina?" Carl asked.

Mina stared daggers at Carl, making the poor, terrified friar shrink back deep to the side of the table.

"Well…" he stuttered, looking at Mina as if she was about to sprout her ever-present fangs on him, "just curious if I had a choice."

"Sorry, Carl, not this time," replied Van Helsing, "unless you want to go back into your little basement at the Order and work on experiments that have the other clerics giving you the nickname 'friar blow-me-up'."

"I happen to dislike that comment!" Carl said, looking hurt.

"Oh, get over it," muttered Mina, but having a small twinkle of amusement in her eye.

"When do you want to leave?" asked Jonathan.

"Tomorrow morning," replied Van Helsing, sipping the last of his beer, "we'll take the night off… we're going to need it."

"We have the extra map in case we find anything," said Mina, early the next morning. "You don't need to worry about us."

The group of four was standing outside the inn, watching as the sun rose into the sky.

Each person had a horse, which Van Helsing had bought for an extremely horrendous price from the innkeeper. They had been planning on getting four horses and a carriage for Mina, but the woman protested so vehemently that they were forced to get just the horses They were all saying their good-byes; for indeed this could be the last time they saw each other.

Van Helsing shook Mina's hand energetically. "I'm sure you'll be fine," he said, and then smiled. "I'm just worried about Carl."

Mina smiled back. "Don't worry, I have had my fair share of jobs as a body-guard for marked men," she said, "and I am sure that, at worst, the friar is wanted only by local tavern girls back in Rome."

"I resent that!" Carl yelled at her, as Jonathan was giving him instructions.

Mina turned back to Van Helsing, and for a moment, Van Helsing was surprised to see her look almost… vulnerable.

"You'll keep an eye on Harker, won't you?" she asked, her voice low. "I'll watch him as best I can, Mina," replied Van Helsing, "but I have a feeling that he's going to watch my back on this mission as well."

Mina smiled again, but Van Helsing could see that she looked worried.

Then Carl came up to Van Helsing.

Van Helsing gripped the friar in a friendly embrace.

"You watch yourself, you hear?" Carl said sternly, trying to act like he was not saddened by their parting, "you know you'll get in a load of trouble without me."

"Just look at it this way, Carl; you'll be making sure Mina doesn't get into trouble."

Carl thought for a minute. He seemed to like the thought of watching the beautiful vampire's back.

Mina and Jonathan looked at each other from each carriage, both trying to figure out if they wanted to say good-bye or not.

Good-byes are never good things, thought Mina, _especially_ right before a dangerous journey. It was bad luck. What if… she swallowed… what if this was the last time she saw him? She didn't want to think about that. What would she do if she didn't get a chance to say what she really felt? But, as usual for her, the sliver of pride found its way back into her heart, turning it cold once again.

She went up to Jonathan, who looked up from acting like he was not looking at her.

"Well, I guess this is it, Harker," she said, in the coldest voice she could muster.

Jonathan nodded. By the look in her eyes, Jonathan couldn't even really remember what love looked like in those beautiful eyes.

"Yes, Mina, this is it." he agreed, swallowing.

"We both know we'll get out of this fine," said Mina unconvincingly, "and we'll be right back here, laughing about something or other."

"Maybe," said Jonathan quietly, "but maybe not." They both looked at each other for a moment. Then Jonathan stuck out a hand.

"Good luck, Mina," he said sincerely.

Without thinking, Mina took his hand, and she didn't want to let go.

"You're the one who is going to need all the luck on this one," she replied. They both let go.

"Good-bye, Jonathan."

"Alright, let's go!" yelled Van Helsing to Jonathan.

Jonathan took one more look at Mina, and then stepped away, going onto the other horse next to Van Helsing's.

Van Helsing clicked his tongue, and both his and Harker's horses sprang into action.

Jonathan turned, and saw the figures of Mina and Carl get smaller and smaller into the distance, until they totally disappeared from view.

"Good-bye, Mina," Jonathan said softly into the air, "May the Lord favor your quest… and make you arrive safely home."

**Chapter 6**

Van Helsing's eyes were exceptionally alert, going from left to right in cautiousness.

The two horses had traveled for less than four hours, but it felt much longer_. _Danger had yet to reveal itself. Not a ghoul, not a were-wolf, not a vampire… not even a wolf or coyote. But Van Helsing doubted that their good luck would last much longer.

"Our task has started easily enough," Van Helsing said out loud.

Van Helsing's fellow rider turned his head.

"You may thank the heavens for small mercies." Jonathan replied in a low voice. "The dangerous lands that are quickly approaching will make us look at this peaceful time as nothing more than a memory."

"That bad, huh?"

Van Helsing rode for a time in silence. The more time he spent with Harker, the more he found the man to be mysterious. Harker was an economical speaker, only talking when absolutely necessary. He was cautious with his words, and kept it that way. And Van Helsing found himself irritated to the fact that Harker adamantly refused to explore the dangers ahead beforehand. "_It will only let fear have more time to creep into us. It will give the mission a much greater chance of failure_," Harker had said.

Van Helsing suppressed anger towards his companion. It would be better to know the dangers straight-forward, instead of these constant implications of it.

But apparently Harker did not care what Van Helsing thought. Harker only cared what he thought. Van Helsing could tell that Harker thought of himself as always right. Above reproach.

Van Helsing feared that this attitude would result in their deaths.

Jonathan looked at Van Helsing carefully out of the corner of his eye. Jonathan had other thoughts in mind, though he would rather slit his own throat than admit his thoughts to the like of Van Helsing. Van Helsing was only a means to an end, and that was all. Jonathan tried to pay the other man no mind, not that he thought he needed to. The muscular, strong man could take care of himself in battle; that much Jonathan was certain of. Besides, he had never been the protective sort.

"So where're we headed, Harker?" asked Van Helsing briskly, interrupting Jonathan's thoughts.

Jonathan thought carefully. He remembered this road as well as his mother's house, for it had been imprinted on his mind. He remembered every turn, every dirt road, every forest passage…

"We're headed for Glenmont's Bane," replied Jonathan, not turning his head to Van Helsing. Jonathan thought for a moment, and the words seemed to flow through him.

"It has been said that, long ago, a man by the name of Glenmont passed through the peaceful village of Varicoz. Glenmont was an evil man, filled with pride and self-righteousness. He felt that Varicoz would be taken over by other tyrants that had appeared in the village, so, single-handedly, he became the leader of the village. With his pleasing voice and seductive reasoning, he gained taxes from the people, and made a small army of trained secret police that did whatever the ruler demanded.

"Soon, Glenmont showed evidence of his true colors as a cruel leader, and the townspeople found that he was worse than even their worst ruler of old. Soon, Glenmont began to execute the people that voiced opinions against him, charging them with treason.

"His secret police killed the 'renegades' in their sleep, stabbing them to death. No one dared speak any ill against their leader.

"The people prayed for relief and salvation from their malicious ruler and, after two years of Glenmont rule, an old hag appeared in the town. She found the state of the people under the wicked ruler, and decided to help him. With magical powers, the hag gave food and relief to the people. Glenmont, terrified of the power of the hag, ordered his soldiers to burn her at the stake.

"And so the soldiers, ignoring the people's cries and pleas for mercy, took the old hag to the far west of the city, where darkness always covered due to the large forest trees. They tied her to an old, wooden stake in the center of the town.

"Glenmont came to the spectacle with pompous arrogance, pleased with the thought of the witch's death. But as the fire licked the wood under the witch's feet, the old hag laughed. She lifted a bony finger at Glenmont, and with a terrible voice shrieked, 'as I die, so will you die; for you have been a bane to these people! From this moment on, this accursed place will be known for its ruler's final folly!'

"Then, with another cackle, she uttered a magic incantation. The hag screamed, her head fell to her chest, and she died. At that moment, lightning from the heavens struck the wooden stake, and killed all of Glenmont's evil soldiers. More and more lightning struck, but not one bolt hit the people of the village.

"Glenmont, seeing the danger, jumped onto his most expensive and fastest horse, and made a wild dash for the cover of the forest. But as he got to refuge, a mighty bolt struck, incinerating Glenmont and his stead steps away from safety.

"And, just as the old woman predicted, the west of the village and the path to the forest was then named Glenmont's Bane. That part of the village is now a barren, evil place, filled with magical properties that give evidence of the mighty ruler's downfall."

Jonathan then stopped speaking abruptly, and stared straight on of their path.

"An interesting tale," Van Helsing said, wondering why Harker had told him the story. "But it seems to be only that; a tale. Any proof for this folklore?"

Jonathan smiled grimly. "Ah, but there is. The witch protected the villagers and their homes from the curse. But she left a warning, burned in the ground by her lightning, telling them never to enter that part of the village again under pain of death.

"To keep the warning alive, the villagers created a plaque, made of the finest silver and gold, and put it in the center of their village. The plaque, in bold letters, told of the story of Glenmont and the witch, and the warning that she imparted to them. Though over fifteen generations and governments of the village have come and gone, the plaque has remained standing, and will surely stand for many years yet."

"Why pass through that way?" asked Van Helsing.

"The path through the forest is the only way through the forest. Without entering through the road, we would add weeks to our journey. Weeks that we don't have."

"Is there any real danger?" asked Van Helsing, his eyes catching movement in the trees.

In this dark environment, Jonathan's words seemed most ominous.

"I have passed through that place twice now. This will be the third. And it is something that I really don't care to repeat. The worst parts of your life fall before you, your worst fears and doubts of yourself are realized." He breathed out. "It gives you a different perspective of yourself, that much is certain. Those she sees as evil never come out of the mist again."

Then Jonathan brought up a hand, stifling whatever questions Van Helsing had.

The horses came to an abrupt halt. They stood to the edge of an elevated hill. Then Jonathan spoke three words.

"There it is."

Van Helsing looked ahead. Below, at the bottom of the elevation, was a large city, with well-built but mediocre buildings. But that was not what held Van Helsing's attention. What he saw was an unnatural mist that covered the entire west side of the village, covering a fifth of the village and a large portion of the front of the forests.

"A mysterious sight, is it not?" asked Jonathan, looking firmly at Van Helsing. "We must hurry."

Van Helsing nodded just as firmly.  
"Then let's go," he said, and then he smiled, "we have a Creature to catch and an invisible serial killer to kill."

Then they made their way towards the village. Although as they began their descent, Van Helsing could have sworn he heard a woman laughing down below. A laugh that seemed to carry in the wind.

**Chapter 7**

"Well…" sniffed Carl, irritably, "_that _man was certainly not kind."

Carl and Mina had been in Griffin's hometown less than ten minutes, and already they were watched with distrust. Faces of the peasants turned towards them suspiciously.

"Get used to it, friar," muttered Mina, her eyes searching. "I must admit I'm surprised being a part of the Order for so long hasn't toughened you up some."

"How do you know it didn't? Anyway, we aren't going anywhere if we can't find out where Griffin's house is?"

"Watch and learn," replied Mina, and she turned and walked towards one of the villagers. The villager, a middle-aged farmer, looked up from his work from piling wood and stared in surprise as Mina came towards him. His eyes looked over her.

"Hello, sir," purred Mina, using her most charming tone, "I was wondering if you could help me and my cleric friend."

The farmer reddened slightly, and he coughed in his fist.

"W- What do you need, miss?" asked the farmer, trying to keep his eyes fully on her face but failing miserably.

"Do you know where the house of John Griffin used to stand?" she coaxed, coming closer and closer to the poor farmer.

The farmer looked nervously from the right to the left, apparently hoping that no one would see him. "Uh..." the farmer mumbled, pointing shakily towards the end of the road. "N-no, I'm sorry… I've got an errand to finish… please excuse me." He fumbled past Mina, mumbling nervously.

"Well, I see that you have a certain effect on men," commented Carl, coming next to Mina. Mina scowled at him.

"Excuse me," asked someone behind them. Mina and Carl turned around.

Standing behind them was a young man. He could be no older than his mid-twenties, but the way he held himself and the look in his eyes revealed the knowledge of someone much older. His blonde hair was combed neatly to the left side, leaving a small section of the bangs covering the tanned skin of the man's forehead.

He smiled and bowed from the waist politely towards Mina.

"Excuse me, are you talking to us?" asked Carl.

"Yes, I was," replied the man, walking towards them. "I overheard you're looking for the Griffin ruins. And by the way the look on the unfortunate farmer's face, I am assuming he didn't tell you what you need." He shrugged. "So I thought that I would down here and offer some help."

"Why do you say 'unfortunate'?" asked Mina, eying the youth with a roving eye.

He smiled devilishly. "Where do I start? Well, for starters, he should be more accommodating to beautiful damsels in distress… such as yourself." His eyes twinkled.

"A damsel in distress, am I?" Mina laughed. "And what makes you think of me as defenseless?"

The young man raised an eyebrow, taking the challenge. "I don't recall calling you defenseless, my lady," he replied. "All I saw was that you needed some assistance on the lay of the land. I simply offer my assistance." He bent down slightly, and kissed Mina's hand.

"And what is the name of such a noble youth?" asked Mina, her eyes shining with mischievous amusement.

"Thomas Stoker," the youth replied, standing back up again. He tilted his head at her. "I would highly appreciate you returning the favor. What about you?"

"My name?"

"Well, that was what I'm looking for. I'm not exactly looking for your uncle's."

"Wilhelmina Murray," replied Mina, grinning. She nodded towards Carl, who was standing next to her. "This is Brother Carl."

"A monk…" said Thomas, a grin appearing on his face. He lowered his voice, as if hiding a secret. "I do hope you haven't come for confessions. If you have, don't waste your time talking to all the villagers, just go to the busybody Tina Reese." His grin broadened. "She seems to think she knows everyone's sins in the village, including mine."

Mina raised an eyebrow. "You? Sins? I would have never guessed."

"Uh…" gapped Carl, confused. "So what you are saying is that you will help us?"

"Exactly," said Thomas. He glanced over Carl. "You catch on quick… for a clergyman."

Then Thomas turned to Mina before Carl could figure out if he had just been complemented or insulted.

"So will you have me?"

"We would love to have your assistance, Mr. Stoker," said Mina, acting completely cordial.

"Can you give us directions?" asked Carl.

Thomas smiled. "Better than that, my good clergyman," he replied, putting a strong hand on the friar's shoulders, "I am going to take you there myself. Consider me your…" his eyes lingered on Mina. "…_personal _guide of our beloved town."

Thomas pointed up the road. "It's not far from here. Come on."

As she walked with him, Mina found herself watching the young man carefully. He apparently was not unsure of himself. He knew his features were good-looking, and he clearly knew how to exploit the fact.

"Miss Murray, did you hear me?"

"I'm sorry," Mina said, smiling up to him. "What did you say?"

"I asked why would this place interest you. Care to tell me?"

"We're relatives," Mina said, concocting a lie as quickly as possible. "I've always been curious about this family legacy, so I wanted to come and see it for myself."

"Well, you'll find everything the same since then. The building has not been touched since it collapsed."

"Why?" asked Carl. "Why not build over it—?"

Thomas shook his head unquestionably. "The villagers say that the house fell because of some kind of magic the youngest often experimented with. The villagers don't want the curse put on them, so they leave the site completely untouched."

He put out the crook of his arm to Mina.

"May I have the honor of escorting you the rest of the way?"

Mina smiled charmingly. "It would be my pleasure."

She put her arm through the crook of his arm, and they walked. Mina wasn't sure what to make of her feelings. She could admit that it was such a nice change to feel attraction for someone and have those feelings returned. Even if this was for a brief period of time, Mina was going to make sure that she enjoyed every moment of it. It was beautiful to play the cat-and-mouse game once again. It had been too long in coming.

Together, the three of them walked down the road.

The Griffin mansion had been said to be the first house built when the small town had first been established. The first Griffin, a man by the name of Evan, had married one of the young women who had come from the East. Evan had been wealthy, and his family had remained rich from generation to generation all the way down to John Griffin's parents.

Evan and his wife soon found that with hard work and lasting friendships with the right people, they had become the town's leaders. They supervised the production of the town, as well as giving thoughtful, well-meaning advice to anyone that asked for it.

The Griffin family had a large legacy, much of which was known in the town lore. But now much of it was forgotten. Everyone that had known the family was now dead. Many of them had died over the course of nine months. It had been right after the Griffin mansion had burned to the ground, killing everyone in the family but John.

Now Mina, Carl, and Thomas looked at the decimated foundation of the house. Rotting, charred wood lay scattered in all directions of the site. It was just as Mina remembered. It had remained unchanged for seven years. There was nothing solid left where the house had once stood. The house had been utterly blown from the foundation. Even the Order could not find a similar case of such a peculiar occurrence happening. A peculiar explosion, indeed. An explosion involving either magic or advanced science… and Mina thought that the evidence proved the latter.

"The Griffin ruins," said Thomas. "How far the mighty fall. The Griffins had been the backbone of the village for generations. Now all that is truly left of them is the charred remains of their house. Such a sad legacy."

Carl looked in shock, thinking about how large the explosion that could have done this was. "Especially after all the good they had done. Even after all that, this village forgot them in eight years. Yes, a sad legacy, indeed."

"_So what are we looking for exactly_?" Carl asked to Mina, immediately turning his voice low enough so that Thomas did not hear them.

"_I'm not sure, Carl_," replied Mina just as softly, "_but we have to find something_. _Anything that could help our friends_."

"You two looking for souvenirs or something?" asked Thomas, looking at them curiously.

"You could say that," replied Mina.

His eyebrows raised, Carl gestured towards the wreck. "Be my guest," he said, "but please _try_ and not to attract too many evil spirits. The village has enough of them already."

Carl and Mina walked into the center of the wreckage. It was just incredible how anything could do this to a house that had lasted over eight generations. Almost as if God had just blown the place right out of existence.

"Carl, you look there," said Mina to Carl, pointing to her left, "and I'll look over here."

Carl nodded, and started off.

As Mina was looking through the charred wooden blocks, she felt Thomas standing over her.

"What are you _really_ looking for, Mina?"

Mina stood up. That was the first time he had said her first name. She rather liked how he said it. "I don't recall ever giving a specific reason," she said, still playing with him. ". But Thomas seemed not at all phased by that.

"Think about it, Mina. Two strangers come to this small town, saying they are relatives of the Griffins. They seem to have come for the simple reason of scouring through the remains of a blown-up house…" Thomas chuckled. "Oh, we get those kind people every Wednesday."

Mina thought for a moment. What was she to tell this man? Sure, there was the fact that she found him attractive, but was she will to risk telling—?

"You're not really a member of the Griffin family… are you, Mina?"  
"Mina!"

She turned around abruptly, promptly forgetting Thomas's inquiry. She saw Carl standing over a patch of dirt.

"What?" she demanded, standing up and looking at Carl. But her anger quickly dissipated. Carl's facial expression said it all.

"I think I found something…"

**Chapter 8**

The village was a dismal sort of place. The houses were sturdily built (though maybe old fashioned) and the streets were well kept. However, Van Helsing could not rid himself of the sense of gloom. Gloom seemed to be the very foundation the village was built upon. Several people walked about, doing average daily activities. They all stopped whatever chores or errands they were doing and watched the two new arrivals with looks of suspicion and hostility.

At least Van Helsing thought he saw hostility. It was hard to see in these people. But there was something in their eyes he couldn't place.

"Lovely place," muttered Van Helsing wryly, keeping his hands loosely at his sides. This action was made on his part for two specific reasons. The first was to make no obvious movements that would be looked upon as aggressive in nature by the villagers. The second reason – and to Van Helsing, the most important reason – was to keep his hands as near his weapons as possible in such a potential hostile location as this. With his left hand, he slowly pulled his fedora farther down, keeping the alarming alertness in his eyes invisible.

"They won't harm us," said Jonathan, softly enough that only Van Helsing could hear his words. "As long as we keep to ourselves and don't bother them."

"In other words, don't talk to them and don't insult their culture," grumbled Van Helsing as a glum reply.

"Right."

Their trek continued through the town. The townsfolk did not speak or move the entire time the two men were there. A few times, Van Helsing was sure that the people were going to attack them with pitchforks and torches. But the attack didn't come.

They soon found themselves walking into the far west of the town. Surrounding the entrance to that part of the village was a large blanket of mist and fog. At the entrance to the fog was a golden plaque, with a silver board and words written on it. There was no way of knowing how old the plaque was.

The two men stood at the entrance to the accursed place. Van Helsing looked sideways at his companion; Jonathan seemed firm and resolved on their next decision.

"Are you sure you want to go in?" asked Jonathan, his face not moving, but his eyes turning to look at Van Helsing.

For Van Helsing, there was no turning back. "Let's get this over with."

They both walked into the mist, and disappeared from the sight of the villagers. After a few moments, and the two strangers did not reappear, the villagers returned to their way of life, quite sure of the fact that they would never see the two strangers again.

From the moment they walked into the mist, Van Helsing felt as if he had fallen out of time. It felt like he was walking in a time where there was no time. A place where time was meaningless.

The smoke and mist seemed to assail his senses, blinding him, giving him no sense of direction. He could not taste, hear, or smell anything. He seemed to almost be part of the mist, forever flowing but never leaving the accursed land. His mind seemed to leave his body, watching as his bodily shell continued forward – or backward, there was no way of knowing – into the mist. He felt some sort of power constrict over his heart, giving him a sense of dread. Hope seemed to disappear as if it had never existed.

"Don't give in," Van Helsing heard Harker mutter, and felt the man's hand lying on his shoulder. Harker's voice seemed to be an echo from a large distance away. Van Helsing was shocked to hear the man's voice. Why had Harker not fallen into the curses of the mist's spells? But then Van Helsing remembered that Harker had passed through this before. He could do it again. And if Harker could do it, so could he.

"The curse was meant to keep everyone but the most valiant away," remarked Jonathan.

"She didn't do a bad job, either," Van Helsing replied, grinding his teeth. "I still have no way of knowing if we are going forward or backward."

"We are on the right trail." Harker's voice held a glint of apprehension. "That much I know for certain."

After a dozen more steps, the feeling of horror was almost unbearable. Van Helsing felt the urge to bolt the opposite way – even if it was the wrong way – back to life, back to safety—

"Be cautious," said Jonathan, holding back Van Helsing from taking another step. Van Helsing realized that he could see again, although the fog was still dense all around them. It almost seemed as if the fog was much lighter in the area that they were now standing.

In front of Van Helsing was a large clearing, in the middle of which was a large pile of wood and ash. Buildings had been built side-by-side of this clearing, giving that section of the village a horseshoe-like appearance. At the end of the clearing was the forest, a path cut directly through the trees clearly visible. Right at the foot of the entrance into the forest was a large burn mark, signifying the exact place where the corrupt ruler had met his gruesome – yet well-deserved – fate.

Jonathan pointed to the pile of wood and ash that resided in the middle of the clearing. "There is where the words of the witch are burned," he said, walking closer.

Van Helsing could see by the houses that no one had lived in this section of the village for many years. Cobwebs were connected from house to house, and occasionally he heard the scurrying of rats.

"Look," whispered Jonathan, pointing to the edge of the forest. Van Helsing looked down, and saw what Harker was pointing to.

On the ground were dozens of skeletons. Van Helsing's eyes narrowed, his ears alert to pick up any danger. But there was nothing except the feeling in his gut. He knelt down towards one of the skeletons. This particular skeleton was fresher than the rest, though the rats and smaller creatures still in the mist had taken most of the flesh.

"Look at the face, Van Helsing," prompted Jonathan, kneeling down next to him. The face was one of pure terror and horror. Even the skeleton showed that. This man had died horribly.

"What do you think he died of?" asked Van Helsing, standing back up from the body.

"Only what he took in with him," replied Jonathan. Then he got up, before Van Helsing could ask what he meant.

"Let's get moving."

They walked carefully into the clearing. Van Helsing didn't trust the apparently harmless atmosphere. The skeletons had unnerved him, making him turn his head from side to side, making sure no enemy lurked in the shadows. There was a clear and present danger here, something that Van Helsing knew for certain. But where the danger lurked and with what intensions was something he had no way of guessing. He hated being put in a position such as this… where he fought an enemy that was not made of flesh and blood. It was made of his own inner fear and doubt.

As they got closer to the center of the clearing, the words engraved on the ground were getting clearer. The large, bold, black letters seemed to still smoke from the curse of long ago.

"From this day onwards, let this place be forever cursed…" Jonathan spoke in a soft voice, careful to speak without emotion. "Those who travel or venture into this accursed place, I give fair warning. If those of you with evil pasts and memories of guilt, know that in passing you may lose your sanity and your life. Leave this place, or face the penalty for your sins."

Both men looked up towards the entrance to the forest. Van Helsing could not see any danger, though he could feel it. His senses were screaming at him, telling him to be ready to defend himself. But how does one defend oneself from a curse and a dead witch?

"What lies ahead of us there?" asked Van Helsing, feeling more and more dread as time wore on. He wanted to make a decision soon, for he felt that soon, he would go mad.

"Madness for those that enter with an evil heart," replied Jonathan. He looked at Van Helsing. "Who are you, Van Helsing? Are you an evil man?" His eyes pierced Van Helsing right through his very soul. "Does evil fester in your soul, slowly clawing away any decency or morality that still exists inside of you?" But as Van Helsing began to open his mouth, Jonathan waved his hand to stop him. "Don't bother answering. I already know the answer. Don't forget I was exactly like you once."

Jonathan looked back up at the forest. His eyes seemed to soften, though the determination in them never wavered. "For if you are anything like I once was, this will be your ultimate test. It is time to face your inner demons, and choose whose side you are really on."

Van Helsing, absent-mindedly, grabbed the golden cross that hung from a silver chain around his neck. He remembered that, as a young man with no memory of his past, a cleric of the church took him in, nurtured him… saved him from himself. This golden cross was a gift from that cleric. He could still remember the words that Cardinal Jinette had spoken to him, as though it was only a passage of moments instead of years.

"_I see great things for you, Van Helsing_. _Things that only the Lord can see_. _Remember your life here in this humble church, and never fall from your faith. That is where your true strength lies. Not from weapons you carry or the strength of your arm_… _your faith_. _Remember that, my son_, _and the Lord will always use you for His will_."

That was what Van Helsing had been told, and that was what Van Helsing hung onto for strength and courage. And he would need both for this journey. Without answering Harker's questions, Van Helsing stepped forward towards the forest.

He knew that the possibility of death was high. For someone in his profession, death was riding shotgun everywhere he went. The trick was learning how to accept and learn from it. Learn how to beat death at its own game. Jonathan stepped slowly, following Van Helsing farther into the mist. Although Van Helsing never saw it, Jonathan Harker smiled.

Van Helsing counted his steps as he went forward. _One_… _two_… _three_… nothing had happened. _Four_… _five_… _six_… he was close now, so close he could feel the breeze from the trees. _Seven_… _eight_… _nine_… for a moment, Van Helsing thought he was safe.

_Ten_…

_Eleven_…

_Twelve_…

There was someone else in the mist. And it wasn't Harker… it was someone else. Gripping the pistol from his belt, he turned and pulled the gun out, ready to take down any foe in front of him.

A young woman, no older than twenty-five years of age, stood before him. Her emerald eyes stared at Van Helsing with infinite hatred. Black raven hair twirled in the wind. Van Helsing could not pull his eyes off of her. He knew her.

"Anna?" Van Helsing was entranced by the woman that he had loved two years ago. He could not – and would not, if he could – look away from her. "Anna Valerious?"

"You _dare _utter my name?" spat Anna, her eyes flashing dangerously, her hand resting firmly on the hilt of her family's sword. "_You_… my murderer? Of course, you have never put that label on yourself, did you?"

"No…"

Van Helsing stared at her, horrified. This was all wrong. This was not real. This _couldn't _be real. He had _seen _Anna! He remembered. He had seen her in her spiritual form with the rest of her family. She was at peace in death, something that she had never been in life. But here she stood, as real and solid as he, glaring at him with loathing in her eyes.

"I—" Van Helsing tried to speak, but no words seemed to be able to escape his mouth. He had not meant it. He was a were-wolf when it had happened, unable to know friend from foe. It had been an accident. He had been able to kill Dracula, but he had also killed the woman he loved… the woman that had been holding the serum to save his life.

The truth, although Van Helsing never wanted to look at it, was that Anna Valerious had died trying to protect him. And he had killed her for it.

"I didn't—"

"You didn't _what_, Van Helsing?" Anna laughed caustically, each word a worse wound than any bullet or knife could make. Van Helsing felt the sting of each syllable. "You killed me. You can't deny it, you can't rationalize it. It's simple." She glared at him. "And you know it. I can see in your eyes. You know that there must have been a way. Some way of stopping the wolf's instincts… You should have controlled the beast inside of you. But you didn't, and now I'm dead."

She then smiled at him, a smile filled with hatred and spite. "I hate you for what you did to me. But you will pay for it… oh, how you will pay…" she laughed, deep and terrible.

Then another being appeared next to her; one that was at first made of mist. Then the mist began to spin and swirl, taking the form of a familiar figure. Then the mist solidified, and Van Helsing saw in alarm that it was the Frankenstein monster. Seemingly in the flesh.

"It was your fault!" the monster rumbled, the left side of its face covered with a bland grey hood. The right side burned in righteous anger. The monster pointed a grey, bony finger at Van Helsing accusingly. "You could have been responsible for the deaths of millions and millions of people, and only through the help of others did you succeed. You are of the devil! You could have doomed us all! You stand on the shoulders of greater men for your success."

"You're wrong." Van Helsing said softly.

Anna laughed, her tone biting. "Who are you trying to convince; us… or yourself?" Then she and the monster laughed at him, pointing at him, mocking him.

"Spawn of Satan!"

"Murderer!"  
"Abomination!"

"Killer!"

"_No_!" roared Van Helsing, jumping towards Anna and the monster. All he wanted for was for them to stop… for them to stop… stop laughing at him. But deep inside, he knew they were right. He could feel their words boring their way into his mind. But as he reached them, both Anna and the monster were gone. His hands touching nothing but smoke.

"Anna!"

"You were always a fool for a woman's affections, my old friend..."

That voice… Van Helsing quickly turned around. His heart constricted in his chest. In front of him was Count Dracula. The vampire's black, perfectly-tailored cloak flowed in a gust of wind. The same black, pony-tailed hair; the same sneering smile…

"But then, it was thinking like that that got you cursed in the first place, wasn't it?"

"Dracula…" Van Helsing brought up his pistol, and shot two silver bullets towards the count. But the bullets simply passed through the lord of vampires, leaving no imprint of any wound behind. Dracula simply looked down at where the bullets had passed through him and clicked his tongue sadly.

"Human weapons are not as lethal as you give them credit for," commented the count, looking at his cloak. "Your fascination with human behavior is what got you into this mess." Dracula sighed. "Oh, that's _right_. You don't remember anything, do you? You don't remember your glorious legacy…" He laughed disdainfully. "Nor why you fell from your high station in existence."

Dracula brought up his left hand. For the second time since meeting the vampire, Van Helsing saw a finger missing. The finger that once had a ring encircled upon it. The same ring that Van Helsing now wore. "Remember this?" Dracula hissed. "I started to tell you right before you chose to kill me. That ring was important to me. A gift from above…" he smirked. "Well, maybe a more appropriate phrase would be 'a gift from below', don't you think?"

"What do you want?" demanded Van Helsing quickly, while gripping the small golden cross in his right hand with all of his might and courage that still remained in him.  
Dracula seemed to ignore Van Helsing's question. He stared at the cross on Van Helsing's neck.

"You don't actually think that's going to work, do you? I hope not. Such a disappointment from the right hand of God."

"I remember that line from our last encounter," countered Van Helsing. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"I never said I expected you to," replied Dracula. "I doubt you remember our battle. Interesting tactics for a member of the Elite, I remember. I underestimated you, Gabriel. This is why you were able to finally kill me. It never occurred to me that you might actually be as dark as any of the Fallen."

"You're lying," Van Helsing finally said. "I don't know why, but I know it. You're not making any sense."

"I see that He did well making sure the lost memory stayed lost," said Dracula. "Even after seeing me, a ghost from the past, you still don't have even a small inkling of your real purpose here."

Dracula looked at Van Helsing, not saying anything. He opened his mouth, but then closed it again. As if he had decided on a different thing to say, he spoke again. "You and I are not so different from each other, my friend." Dracula's black eyes seemed to glow with an unnatural light. "In fact, we might be more alike than you could possibly realize."

Dracula stepped closer to Van Helsing. Van Helsing took a step backwards. Something was wrong, he yelled at himself again and again. Dracula was dead. He died two years ago. This could not be him… A smirk appeared on the count's face at the sight of Van Helsing's quite apparent thoughts.

"I really would have told you of your past, you know. Together, we could have taken over the world; we could have had every living being groveling and begging at our feet. But fate decided to gave you another path, choosing you to be the benefactor of my demise."

Count Dracula laughed again, this time it seemed with true glee. "I still could, you know."

"You could what?"

"Reveal your past to you." He raised a finger. "Not all of it, mind you. I rather like the role He chose for you to play. I wouldn't want to spoil the game too soon."

"What game?"

Dracula smirked again. "Ah, but that would be telling. It is not yet time. Oh, but I am sure He will tell you the truth when He deems it time." The last sentence was said with mock sympathy.

Dracula began to pace slowly, his hands behind his back. "As you know from last time, you were the one to kill me several hundred years ago."

"But that's impossible!"

"Is it? What are limitations to the right hand of God?"

"I told you, I don't know what you mean by 'the right hand of God.' That's—"

"Impossible? You are beginning to repeat yourself, my friend. It's rather tedious." He turned his eyes from Van Helsing and looked upwards. "After you killed me, I was sent into Hell. Have you ever seen Hell?" He laughed. "But why even bother asking that? You and your ilk would never stoop so low as to see those of the Devil, would you? The unending pain and anguish must be hard for one as _pure_ as you to watch." He narrowed his eyes and looked back at Van Helsing.

"It is a terrible place. Eternal flame... it is one of those places that makes you think of your life… and wonder why you wasted it. But there was something about me that, even to this day I don't know what, got the attention of the Devil. And he offered me a choice. Stay in Hell for all eternity… or get my life back on Earth."

The vampire smiled caustically. "But as I was yet to learn, the devil is not one of those people you invite for tea and crumpets. Just as such, never trust anything he says to you."

"Then why should I trust anything you tell me, count?" asked Van Helsing coldly.

"Because I am the only being on this earth who can tell you the whole story. Now please control yourself from interrupting." He thought for a moment, and then continued. "I was willing to do anything to escape Hell. Even sell my soul. His offer seemed simple enough. So I took it. But, as I should have realized, making any deal with the devil comes at a terrible price… which, in my case, was my humanity. I became one of the living dead. A vampire. Doomed to a life of feeding off of others."

Dracula stared into space. Then his eyes blinked. "But while in Hell I learned many things. I transcended through all mortal boundaries. And I learned what happened to my killer. You know, you were the first."

"The first what?"

"The first angel to kill a human in cold blood."

Van Helsing couldn't believe what he had just heard. Was Dracula actually serious in calling him an angel? It was just… it couldn't be.

"I see that you don't believe me." Dracula shrugged. "Not that it matters if you believe me or not. It doesn't change the facts. Not in your eyes and not in His eyes. But you were an exception. You were a leader, Gabriel. You were—"

"The right hand of God, yes, you said that already," said Van Helsing. "Now who's repeating themselves?"

"You have no idea the chain of events you started all those years ago. Doing such a heinous deed… and as God's most trusted servant, no less. You know, Lucifer once held your high standing in the eyes of God. And even he thought he could change the rules of the game. For that, he was banished from God's sight. Just as you were… just as you are."

Van Helsing's brain was doing flip-flops. Was there any truth in this deceiver's words? Was there any way of trying to find another way of finding the truth? Was Dracula truly the only one with the truth?

"But God chose another consequence for you, didn't he, Gabriel? He didn't choose for damnation in Hell for you. He had something else in mind, didn't he? You were willing to take a life. Angels aren't allowed to do that, last I heard. So you were punished. Have you figured out why?"

"To fix the mess I made."

"Exactly. I returned to the living as a vampire. And I killed people. Of course, He looked at the whole situation as your fault. So he sent you down here for… community service, as it were. You were to clean up your mess." Dracula stopped talking suddenly, and brought a hand to his lips in mock shock. "But wait a moment… you _did _clean up your mess, didn't you? You _did _kill me. So why are you still here?"

Dracula laughed. "There are so many secrets surrounding you, Gabriel. Things you cannot even imagine. You have no idea where your true purpose lies. And you may never find out. You may _never_ know your true past.

"You are cursed, my friend. And this curse is not one that has an antidote. You will never know the life you lived, the life you lost, the true reasons and circumstances that brought you to this lowly state. The memories will forever prick you, as little flashes and glimpses in the night. And they will all disappear just as quickly as they came."

He walked closer, until he and Van Helsing were inches away from each other. "Just a little piece of advice, Gabriel. From friend to friend. I would not be too eager to find the truth if I were you. I have found that certain truths are ones best left unknown. And this truth is one of those."

"Think of it as a locked door. A locked door that haunts your mind whenever you sleep. You imagine all the treasures in the world being behind this door. You have a key in your hands that you have searched the world for. All you have to do is enter the key into the lock and open the door. But once you open the door, you see not treasures or wealth. You find a python. Certain truths will strangle you. Believe me, I know."

Dracula seemed to stare at Van Helsing for a long time. His smile widened. "You want to know something, Van Helsing? If we were not such bitter enemies, I might actually have had it in my heart to feel sorry for you."

Then, with a final derisive cackle, Dracula was gone, disappearing into the smoke he appeared from. Van Helsing couldn't think. Was all of this for real? Was what he had just seen Dracula's true ghost, coming back from the grave to stab one last blade of self-doubt into his dreaded enemy's soul?

Could any of it have been true? Was he really Gabriel, the leader of angels? The angel that stepped into the position that Lucifer once held? Or was it all simply one of Dracula's mind games? There was no real way of knowing.

Van Helsing looked around. He could see nothing.

Then he could see everything.

Hundreds and hundreds of faces appeared all around him, from every direction. He felt he was suffocating by the amount of faces. They screamed at him, laughed at him, mocked him… all the faces. His pistol fell from his nerveless fingers.

Mr. Hyde… Dorian Gray… Anna… Prince Valerious… hundreds of others… all of them murdered by his hand. He knew each and every face, even if he did not know their names.

All of them murdered for the _good_ of the world, for the _honor_ of the Knights of the Holy Order… Van Helsing groaned desolately, and fell to his knees in agony. He could hear all of their voices. All of them intermingled, but he could still hear each one of them.

"_See how the mighty fall_!"

"_He was our killer_!"

"_He deserves to burn in Hell_!"

"_Die, oh great warrior; die like the rest of us_!"

"_Come to us_…"

"_Die like us_…"

"_What have you to lose_…?"

"_You have no one_…"

"_You are alone_…"

"_You are nothing_…"  
"_Die_…"

Van Helsing put his face in his hands. He _was_ nothing. He deserved the same fate of those he killed. In reality, was he any better than they were? Did he not kill just like them? What was the difference? Did he feel justified that the orders were given by the Order? Were the souls of the Order any better than these were?

"_Be like us_…"

"_There is no hope_…"

"_Join us_…"

"_Come to us_…"

"_Die like us_…"

Van Helsing looked down at his knees. His mind was coming to the breaking point of any human endurance. He was no better than those he killed. No, he was worse. He had killed more than any of those killed ever did. Did he have any more reason to live than they did? His thoughts began to blur, his hands sweat. What would happen to Carl…?

"_Fall into our embrace_…"

"_We will have you_…"

"_You cannot escape your past_…"

"_Feel the peace of death_…"

"_Die with us_…"

He felt the little left of his sanity start to slip from him. All he could think about was all of the voices. Why couldn't they stop? They hurt him. He grabbed the sides of his head in anguish. What if, by living, he killed someone else? What if he led to the death of someone he cared for, like Anna? What about Carl? Did he want to be the reason the innocent friar met his untimely death? It seemed at that moment that everyone who had meant anything to him was dead or going to die because of him.

He felt himself dying… he felt his grip on reality leaving… _Better to die now_, he thought bitterly, _than have my friends die because of me_. His eyes closed…

Then a bright light assailed his senses, one that seemed to come from all directions. The voices were gone immediately, as quickly as a rabbit at the sight of a fox. The light was coming from behind Van Helsing. But – try as he might – Van Helsing could not turn his body around. He was frozen.

Then a deep, musical voice spoke to him, and it seemed to him as if he was a man dying with thirst being given water for the first time. It was the voice of life and death, hate and love, sorrow and joy, peace and war… it was the voice of all things. But for some reason… Van Helsing thought that he had heard this voice before… somewhere a long time ago…

"_Your task is not yet complete. You will not fall as Dracula did to the false allure of power. Nor will you fall by your own hand_," spoke the Voice, gentle and loving. "_I have given you the strength to pass thus far; I will not relinquish this hold at the first stroke of the hammer of doubt or hate. My shield over you shall not break, though you know not who I am_."

"Who are you?" whispered Van Helsing, wishing with all his might that he could turn and see the face of one so full of caring and strength. But still the barrier held. "Are you… Him?"

"_I have many names. Thousands of names. But it is not yet time for My appearance to you, my child_," spoke the Voice. "_But rest assured, through your trials, I will be there_. _I will not abandon you_."

"But what of what Dracula said? Did he speak the truth—?"

"_Dracula is a seducer_. _But as all of his kind, their lies are based in truth to make them more convincing. Dracula is a master at deception. Do not fall for his lies, but also do not be blind to the truth_."

"But am I really Gabriel? And if I am and I was sent to kill Dracula, why am I still here?"

"_There was something that Dracula said that you must take to heart. But you must look at the words in a different light. My light. When he says 'some truths should be best left unknown,' I say 'some truths should not be sought until the right time.' It is not the right time, Van Helsing._"

"But how will I know when it is the right time?"

"_Be patient. You will know_. _You have work to finish. Farewell_…"

Then the Voice was gone. In its place was a blood-curdling scream, one that Van Helsing felt could rip the flesh off his body. A scream of rage and anger.

It was the scream of a witch that was thwarted her prey.

Then the scream, too, was gone… and Van Helsing found himself kneeling on the ground. Almost a praying position. He looked down, and found that he had fallen on the burn mark at the edge of the forest. He had survived the curse. He was safe.

Then he felt a hand fall on his shoulder. He could tell that it was Harker.

"Get up, Van Helsing," said Jonathan, his voice giving no emotion whatsoever, "We must leave. We will run out of time if we linger for even a moment."

Van Helsing nodded, and stood up slowly. He saw that his pistol was still on the ground. He bent down and picked it up. He felt strength return to his limbs again. He put the pistol back into his coat. His coat was covered in dirt and stains.

"Come on," said Jonathan, and gave Van Helsing a small smile.

As they walked through the forest, Van Helsing looked around. As they got farther and father away, the mist and fog seemed to lessen in distinctiveness. After a while of traveling, Van Helsing found that there was no longer any residue left of the accursed mist. For a long while, neither man spoke, each buried deep into their own thoughts.

"Not something easily forgotten, is it?"

Van Helsing turned to Jonathan.

"No… it's not," replied Van Helsing. He had thought about his experience the entire time they had walked. Though a part of it now made sense now that Van Helsing could think clearly, there was still a large part that did not.

He did realize that Anna and Frankenstein and all the rest of the spirits had been nothing more than illusions created by the curse of the witch to drive him to insanity. It was quite an ingenious way of protection, thought Van Helsing. For those that had nothing to fear, had done nothing wrong, they could pass throughout the cursed place without anything happening to them. Only those with ghosts from their past had anything to fear.

If it had not been for the Voice, Van Helsing would now be dead… or worse, insane.

But then what about the Voice? And Dracula? Dracula had said things that Van Helsing couldn't have even guessed. The illusion of Dracula did not come from his mind. It had come from an outside source. No, it couldn't have been the real Dracula. Van Helsing had seen the body disintegrate. The body that had been very much dead. No, that was not Dracula. But then what was it? Could it have been the Devil? Possible. But, again, there was no way to know for sure. Van Helsing mentally noted to put the occurrence in his long list of things he had no earthly way of finding out.

And the Voice? Who was it that had saved him from all his doubts and fears from himself? Deep inside, Van Helsing knew who it was. Maybe, in the future, he would finally be able to meet the Voice…

Then a thought came to him.

"Harker…" said Van Helsing. "I know what I experienced from the curse… but what about you? What evils did you see from your past?"

Jonathan smiled, thought Van Helsing saw no warmth in it. "I ask for the same luxury I have given you. No questions asked." Jonathan turned and looked back from where they had walked. It was still possible to see a faint glimmer of the mist still. "The curse does strange things. It is never quite the same in what it reveals. Sometimes it shows the person things that, in their heart, they know but can't bring themselves to see. Things they would rather die than confront. Every man has something in their lives like this. And these are the things that must be kept private. Known only to themselves." He turned back. "Come on. Let's get going."

"My pain is my burden alone…" He whispered to himself, so softly that Van Helsing didn't hear him.

**Chapter 9**

"What is it?"

Carl looked at the mount of dirt in front of him, and scratched his hair. "I'm not sure," he said in confusion. "But it seems to be some sort of door."

Thomas shrugged his shoulders. "It could just be one of the room doors blown up."

Carl shook his head. "No… I don't think that's it at all. This one looks connected to something…"  
"Let me see," said Mina, kneeling down towards where Carl was. Carl had been right, Mina thought. It was a door. It seemed to be some sort of cellar door.

"Help me lift this," said Mina, as she grabbed the door handle while Carl swept the dirt and broken wood off of the door. Thomas came next to them.

"Ready? Pull!"

Together, all three of them pulled, and the door gave way, opening with a crash.

"Look…" said Carl, pointing down. Behind the door was a staircase.

Thomas looked at Mina with respect. "Did you know about this?"

"No," replied Mina, "I'm just as surprised as you are."

Thomas stared hard at her, and Mina wondered if he might have seen through her lie. Then his eyes blinked. "If you say so."  
They looked down the staircase for a moment. Then Thomas stood up.

"Well?" he asked. "Are you going down first, or should I?"

Mina smiled. "Let's go, Carl," she said, and she went down the staircase, followed by Thomas and Carl.

The environment was dank, reeking of mildewed dirt and humid air. Mina looked to the corner of the wall. There was an unlit torch, with cobwebs covering it. She picked it up off its platform.

"Here," said Thomas, giving her a match.

"Thanks," she replied.

She lit the torch, and they started their descent down the stairs.

They walked slowly down each step, which was immediately followed by the creak of floorboards.

"What a charming place," muttered Carl, looking nervously at the large spiders crawling over the brick walls.

After about two dozen steps, they came to the end of the stairway.

"Oh my…" breathed Mina, looking around in awe.

The room was a large laboratory. There were three tables, each at the three sides of the room. The wooden tables were large, each with a chair next to it. Chemistry sets and strange vials filled the tables, as well as countless pieces of paper that seemed to fill as much room as the chemistry sets.

"Well…" said Carl, looking at each table in turn. "Does this count as something?"

Mina looked up and saw that there was a platform hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. She put the torch into the platform, and it fit perfectly.

"So what are we looking for exactly?" asked Thomas, watching as Carl and Mina went from table to table, looking for something.

All the papers had theorems and equations that even Mina didn't know what they meant. A few of the papers showed small diagrams, but nothing enough to tell her what she needed.

Mina stopped her search for a moment to look at Thomas. "I'm sorry, Thomas," she said, "but that is not something I can tell you."

"Well, you'll have to tell me _something_," Thomas countered, waving his hand at the laboratory, "because if you don't, I am going to assume that this is illegal and report it."

"You wouldn't _dare_," hissed Mina, walking menacingly towards Thomas. But the young man stood his ground, staring her right in the face.

"Yes, I _would _dare," Thomas replied.

Mina glared at him. "Fine," she finally said.  
"Mina, no!" uttered Carl, shaking his head at her.

"We'll only tell him enough to get him to help us," she said, not looking at Carl. "Alright… we are here to find a way to stop an evil serial killer. The only way to stop him is to find _something _in this room that we can use against him."

Thomas looked at her for a moment. "Do I have your word that you are telling the truth?"

"You have my word."

Thomas nodded appreciatively. "Alright, that's good enough for me."

He walked up to the other table. "Give me some clue on what you want."

"That's just it," replied Mina angrily, "I have no idea exactly what we are looking for!"

"Well, if I see anything that looks important, I'll tell you." And they searched.

Carl wasn't sure what he was looking for. So far he had found the equation of probability, something that he couldn't make heads or tails about. Then he found a piece of paper with a diagram on it. It had the figure of a man on it, although the features of the man were not shown. It was just the outline. On the top of the paper was the phrase_: mist and fog; counter effects _

_I wonder what that means_, thought Carl. Then his eyes caught something else. In so doing, he forgot about the paper in his hands, which he simply put into his pocket absent-mindedly…

"I think I found something!" said Carl from the right table. Thomas and Mina came towards the friar.

"What is it?" asked Thomas.  
In Carl's hands, he held a small stack of papers. There were more than fifteen pages. He handed them to Mina.

Mina looked at them, and saw on the front were the words that made her hands shake.

_Invisibility serum and antidote_

"You were right, Carl," Mina said, smiling. "We found what we need."

She looked down the list. It had all the ingredients and theorems that they would need to create the serum, as well as make the antidote. This could be their salvation…

"We need to contact the Order," she said, holding the papers securely in her hands.

"Right," said Carl, taking the torch from the platform above. Then he looked at the rest of the laboratory. "But what about the rest of this stuff, do we just leave it?"

"We'll shut the door, and no one will know of this place," Mina replied. "It is better that way, raising no unwanted questions."

"Except mine," said Thomas.

Now Carl and Mina looked at him.

"What about me?"

Mina thought for a moment. "You'll come with us," she finally said.  
"Now _that _is a very bad idea," started Carl, but Mina cut him off.  
"We don't have a choice, Carl," she said coldly, "he's already seen too much. We have to contact the Order about what to do next."

"What is this order you keep talking about?" asked Thomas, looking from Mina to Carl. "Are you part of the law or something?"

"Yes and no," replied Mina. "We are going to take you with us, at least until we get a confirmation from our superiors."

Thomas shrugged. "Sounds fine to me," he said, and then smiled roguishly. "Though really, I can't think of someone prettier I'd rather be kidnapped by."


End file.
